


You are my Salvation

by stuckinabucketwithyou



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Anal Sex, Angst, Awkward Sexual Situations, Awkwardness, BAMF John, BAMF Sherlock, Bisexual John, Biting, Blow Jobs, Bottom John, Bottom Sherlock, Boys Kissing, Condoms, Eye Contact, Forgive Me, Gay Sex, Gay Sherlock, He's just got major issues, How Do I Tag, Hurt John Watson, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, It's coming, John Whump, John is still a soldier, Kink Negotiation, Kissing, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, London, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Negotiations, No sex in the first chapter, Not Beta Read, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Violence, Porn, Porn With Plot, Praise Kink, References to Abuse, Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sex Club, Sherlock Makes Deductions, Sherlock's still a detective, Swearing, There will be feels, Top John, Top Sherlock, Voyeurism, Yes I make you wait, and is super sexy, could be, excessive amounts of foreplay, i'll stop now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-05 06:58:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3110375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuckinabucketwithyou/pseuds/stuckinabucketwithyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For years John Watson has lived by three rules: stay off his father's radar, never spend more than a single night with any man, and never fall in love again. But one night of explosive sex and one man he can't get out of his head have John breaking them all. But John's father has his reasons for hating how his son lives, and he'll do whatever he can and use all his power to keep John away from the enigmatic Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Club

**Author's Note:**

  * For [givemeangstandporn_heyatleastImhonest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/givemeangstandporn_heyatleastImhonest/gifts).



> Hoooo boy. Okay, here we go. I read a particularly delicious story called More by Sloan Parker, and saw a perfect AU For John and Sherlock. Some of this fic is exactly like that book, some of it is totally different. I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THIS. I really like this AU, but it's gonna be a lot of work, so I'm not gonna post ay more, unless I get some kind of response. It doesn't have to be huge, I just need to know SOMEBODY is interested. I'm gifting this to Givemeangstandporn_heyatleastimhonest, because I absolutely love her fic the Baker High Irregulars. And I'm hoping if I give her a present, she'll get her butt in gear and write the next chapter!
> 
> I'm using British terminology so yes, football is soccer, trousers are pants, and pants are underwear. Deal with it. <3
> 
> also HEADS UP PEOPLE: Here be delicious, sweaty, dirty, yes-that's-actually-where-they-put-it man sex. If you got a problem with that, Asta la vista, baby, cause I don't give a crap.

John Watson sat in the back of a cab as it drove through a dingy part of London. His eyes flicked between the three rear view mirrors, and occasionally he turned his head to look out the side and back windows. He hadn’t seen any sign of his stalkers. They’d either gotten worse at finding him or better at hiding. He wasn’t especially tense, but he was wary, it was best to keep an eye out. Eight months, and he hadn’t spotted a single man following him. This was the longest stretch he’d gone unnoticed since his early twenties. They would find him, though. Given enough time and enough money, it was inevitable.

He let his mind drift over the past few weeks. He'd been relaxing a bit, not having the men in black up his ass all the time had been a welcome relief. He had finally been able to get a job, working at a little clinic that went completely unnoticed by anyone except the patients who attended, and the people who worked there. It couldn't have come at a better time, the size of his pension meant he was hard pressed to live even half decently. And when the price of his membership to the club was added it was impossible. At least he no longer paid psychiatrist's bills. He'd stopped going to see that god-awful woman when he'd found the club. He firmly believed that copious rounds of basically anonymous sex did far more for him then her "treatments" ever had. Of course, he hadn't been able to go to the Haven in the past couple weeks, his new work schedule had made it impossible. He felt the lack of it too. He was fraying at the edges, with no way to release his anger and aggression, no way to get that rush of adrenaline he had craved ever since he'd been sent home from Afghanistan. John did another sweep of the mirrors and windows. _Better safe than sorry_ he chanted his mantra to himself. The cab slowed- _Finally!_ They'd arrived.

“You sure you want to get out here mate?”

John nodded at the cab driver and glanced out the window at the five-story building with graffiti and faded, chipped bricks camouflaging the outside. In the six months he’d been there, the appearance of the club had never changed. John grinned “This is the place.” 

He scanned the street and sidewalks around the cab, the dusky night fog of London somewhat limiting his view. An alley across the street held his gaze for a long moment. That alley was the worst part of this set up, every time John came he had to worry about that damn alley. He wasn’t bothered by the fire escapes climbing the sides of the building, or the dumpsters full of more used condoms than he cared to imagine. It was simply a dark corner where _they_ could hide. “Hope you know what you’re getting into.” The cabbie grunted.

“Wouldn’t have taken the risk if I didn’t.” John answered in a clipped tone. He paid the fare and jumped out of the cab. The cabbie sped off the moment the door was shut, and John shook his head and smirked. The Cabbie thought this was a dodgy area. _If only he knew._ But he wasn’t the type. John’s gaydar was right on the money most days. That Cabbie probably lived in the suburbs with his wife, 2.5 kids, and a dog named Bob. He probably spent his weekends at soccer games, and Sunday morning services at Christians United, or whatever flavor-of-the-week church he was into. He’d _definitely_ piss his pants walking into a gay sex club. John had met more than his fair share of straight men who assumed that that just talking to a gay man would leave them marked as gay for the whole world to see. This guy was one of them, and he was lucky John had gotten out of the cab when he had, because John had no patience for that attitude. 

He strode to the unmarked doorway at the front of the building. The rushing wave of adrenaline overwhelmed him. He hadn’t been here in weeks, and his body knew what the night would bring. The touch of another human being, the loss of control... He sighed, it had been too long. He scanned his ID card, cast one last look over his shoulder, and stepped inside. The combined aroma of blended after shaves, colognes, and liquor erased any concerns he had about who might have followed him here. After the bleak London street the club Haven, with its leather chairs and polished wood surfaces, offered a promise of decadence. And John was more than ready for it. He’d been trapped too long in his grey little apartment, working at the clinic where he was seen only as “that nice, ex-military doctor with the jumpers.” Little did his colleagues and clients know there was a whole different side to him, a more dangerous, sensual side that had been too long kept in a box. John adjusted the collar of his charcoal suit, smoothing the light blue shirt underneath. He knew cut a striking figure, looked tempting. He still hadn’t lost the golden tint Afghanistan had left on his skin, nor the strong, precise posture of the army. He went to the gym every weekend, and spent hours going through his regime. It was tailored to make sure John was firm and toned, but not getting bulky – he was stocky enough as it was. He ran a hand through his carefully parted hair and took a deep breath, then stepped forward into the club. 

Men packed the lounge, the dining room, the bar, and his anticipation mounted with each step through the crowd. The music pulsed in a low throb that hinted at dance music, but wasn’t near the beat required for anything more than a slow grinding of hips to hips. Foreplay. Like a primal mating ritual of alpha and omegas, slicked and ready to strike. 

The lighting at the bar was dim, but bright enough to make a search of the night’s prospects without strain. John appreciated that. He had come to the club for one reason, and drinks, dinner and dancing had nothing to do with it. He claimed an empty stool at the bar. Several members he hadn’t been with yet caught his eye, but after being gone for weeks, seeing familiar faces screamed redundancy, even if he hadn’t yet glimpsed what lay beneath the expensive suits. John needed someone new. He needed the man who fucked him to be someone he had never laid eyes on before. And he needed to be tied up, and he _needed _to beg for it. A shiver crawled over his skin. The decision to use bondage tonight, and of the way he wanted to be taken, heightened his need. He didn’t always spend the night tied up, letting a dominant type run the show, but it happened more often than not. And he never slept with the same man more than once.__

No exceptions.

Not that John ever let himself get propositioned for more. He was a total arse to most men he slept with. Just not in bed. There, he was generous. He returned favors and enjoyed himself thoroughly. He liked giving head, he liked dick, he liked having sex. But after, in the quiet moment when they were catching their breaths, John was out the door. He always left before the guy could ask John to be his next fuck-buddy, or for a number he could call. It was just easier, simpler, safer that way. What John didn’t know was he’d already followed that rule for the last time. He couldn’t possibly know that the next man he was going to sleep with was going to make him break every damn rule he’d ever lived by. Change wouldn’t come easily though. Not when you factored in John’s resistance, and his father.

The man had always been an asshole. A lot of fathers were. But John’s was a particular brand of asshole. First he had royally fucked John’s life in the worst way, then he’d swept him under the carpet. He hadn’t even been there in high school, when John had so nearly imploded, or when he’d been shot, and forced to come home. No hospital visits, no phone call, not so much as a scribbled card. And now he seemed hell-bent on keeping John eternally miserable. Yeah, A lot of father’s were assholes, but John’s also happened to be a party leader, one of the powerhouses of England’s political world. He never introduced John to his colleagues; he sponsored loads of legislation to take away John’s rights. His father understood that if people knew about his gay son, they’d view him as a mean old bastard. Which, of course, he was. But John knew him in ways few did. John had seen him point a loaded gun in his face and smile. And that had been when His father still spoke to him. 

Sitting at the bar in the Haven, John had no clue what he was about to do would be a catalyst for everything. He merely wanted to connect, to get fucked in the way he craved. But, a half hour later, the turnout looked downright dim. John wasn’t ready to give up though. He’d find someone, he always did.

As if on cue, his gaze was captured by a man standing against the wall across the dance floor, leaning there as if he owned the place. His breath stuttered, and his eyelashes flickered. In contrast to the muted lighting of the club, the stranger’s pale skin almost glowed. He looked ethereal. John didn’t usually apply the word beautiful to men, but it was the only way to describe the man he was staring at. The man who also happened to be staring at him. John couldn’t breathe as he was held by fantastic heterochromatic eyes, eyes whose color seemed eternally shifting from blue, to green, to gray, to an almost golden yellow. The man smirked and gave John a searing once over. John felt a wave of heat follow the man’s gaze across his body. He straightened his shoulders, and returned the favor, running his eyes over the fascinating figure.

The stranger was definitely new here, John would have remembered that thin, lithe figure. He almost licked his lips as he noted how the superbly cut black suit clung to the man’s figure. He _did_ lick his lips when his eyes fell on the tight burgundy shirt, with just one button too many undone. John longed to scrape his teeth along the exposed silken skin at the man’s throat. He was gorgeous, with a mop of artfully tousled curls spilling across his forehead. To the inexperienced eye, this man might look like a bottom, and John had to admit he was already fantasizing about the perfect tight arse that must be hidden under the tight trousers. But there was an aura surrounding the man, an indefinable something that screamed power and dominance. Perhaps it was the sardonic arch of the black eyebrows, or the way his eyes seemed to turn you inside out, and see everything there was too see in the blink of an eye. Oh yes, this was his man. And given the look he was receiving from the stranger, he wasn’t likely to object. 

John held eye contact, refusing to be intimidated by the piercing gaze. Slowly, he raised one eyebrow and tilted his chin – an obvious invitation. The stranger grinned and pushed away from the wall, walking across the dance floor towards the bar where John was sitting. John took a hurried sip of his water, needing something to cool the blood in his veins. The night was looking up. When he turned back, the stranger was right in front of him, still devouring him with those impossible eyes. John shivered at seeing the man up close, relishing the fact that he was quite a bit taller than himself. He grinned, the clothes, the hair, the face, every ounce of this guy was sexy as hell. John wanted to be with him, felt a need in his blood.

The stranger sat on the stool next to John’s, and in response to his silent nod, the bartender filled his glass with a very fine brandy. The bar tender shot a questioning look between John and the stranger, but the stranger just grinned and sipped the amber liquid. His full, cupid-bow lips held John’s attention as he smiled and drank. A low rumbling question was spoken more to the glass than to John. “Are you available tonight?” Good God his voice was pure sin. Deep and silken and guaranteed to have John trembling. He imagined it growling into his ears in the midst of sex. He wondered if he could come just from the sound that came out of those beautiful, lush lips. 

John’s voice almost left him as the stranger cast him a dark, burning look. He cleared his throat, trying to keep his cool, it wouldn’t do to show the other how desperate John was to drag him to bed. “Yeah, I’m free.” The stranger downed another gulp of the brandy. The swipe of his tongue wet his lips, and John couldn’t peel his eyes from that pink mouth. “I want to be tied up.” John spat out, forcing himself to look away from the strangers mouth and fix him with a serious look. “And as that’s the case, I’d like to establish ground rules.” The stranger watched him for a minute, there seemed to be flicker in his eyes, was it excitement? Amusement? Then he tilted his chin in assent. “That is acceptable; I agree setting rules beforehand sounds wise.” The electric eyes run up and down John’s body once more – he could swear he felt them pressing into him. John shifted uncomfortably; he didn’t like how much this guy threw him. He was almost drooling at the strangers feet, had almost lost command of his speech. And that wasn’t John, not when he was here. At work and in public he could get tongue tied and blush, but here - here he was smooth, experienced and unruffled. This gorgeous man seemed determined to throw all that out the window. John ached to know what he’d be like once they had the door locked behind them. He cleared his throat again, finally looking away. “Let’s get a table. Discuss our rules there.” The other man nodded, long elegant fingers wrapping around his whisky as he stood. He strode off, and John followed, shaking his head in an effort to get it together and not look like a complete idiot. The stranger made his way to a nearby table in an alcove then turned to face John. John had been lost in his thoughts, and stopped just short of ramming his forehead into the other’s chin. Dramatic, glittering eyes flashed down at him. The eyes asked for something, begged for it, yet at the same time they held a million promises. The man drew in a long breath and stepped back. John moved by him and the strangers arm brushed the length of his own. The simple gesture jerked his prick awake. Or maybe it was the stranger. He smelled of a cool, yet strangely spicy cologne, and something faintly chemical. It was mouthwatering.

John sat across from the entrancing man. “The name’s John.”

“Sherlock.” He held out a elegant hand. Once he leaned back in his chair, his eyes found John’s. “May I ask how old you are?”

John tensed slightly at that. “ You have an age requirement?”

Sherlock chuckled lowly, making something in John’s stomach lurch. “No. Just curious.” He ran a hand through his dark hair. The curls straightened and snapped back, the movement smooth. _What would that hand feel like wrapped around my dick?_ John desperately wanted to know. He let out a ragged breath. Waiting could be hard. Damn hard.

“Thirty-three.” He said.

“How often are you here?”

“Friday nights. Some Saturdays. A few week-nights when I can manage it.”

“But you haven’t been here in a while.” Sherlock said it as a statement, not a question. John shot him a keen look. 

“How do you know that?”

Sherlock chuckled again. “Oh I know a lot of things. I know you’re thirty-five, not thirty-three. I know you’re a veteran Army doctor, a ranking officer who got sent home after being shot. By the way, was it Afghanistan or Iraq?”

“I- wh- Afghanistan, but-“

Sherlock looked victorious and plowed on. “I know you’ve recently gotten a job, that no one you work with knows you’re gay no-“ He corrected himself when John opened his mouth – “Bisexual, And I know that you’ve finally gotten rid of your psychiatrist. A wise move considering she’s done bugger all for your psychosomatic limp, or your rather worrying craving for adrenaline.” 

John stared, his mouth hanging open, as Sherlock took another swallow of his drink and watched John, gauging his reaction. John was amazed, but also felt a little violated, it stung to have his life spewed out by an absolute stranger – despite him being an incredibly sexy one. But, instead of lashing out, he simply said “Explain.” Sherlock raised one thin eyebrow, looking pleased that John had not immediately punched him. He explained all the clues he had put together John’s war record, quickly and succinctly. “As for the rest, I knew you lied about your age because you intentionally maintained eye contact when you said it. You aren’t the type to lie for vanity, so you fear rejection because of your age. You seem to upright a fellow to enjoy lying so you wouldn’t change the number too much, and you have enough knowledge of the human mind to know that thirty three- despite only a two year difference – sounds a great deal younger than thirty five.”

John huffed a laugh, “Stupid really, “He grinned ruefully at the dark haired angel across from him “But it has made all the difference in the past.”

Sherlock grinned back “Oh, I don’t doubt it.” John was momentarily distracted by Sherlock’s handsome face. _God, I want to **lick** those cheek bones._ He came back to himself. “And the other stuff? How’d you know all that?”

Sherlock leant back, clearly enjoying himself as he recited. “Well, I saw you when you walked in the door; I noticed your limp then. I also noticed that it disappeared as soon as you stepped into the room. The look on your face as you entered was that of someone who’d finally come home, which told me two things. One – that you hadn’t been here in a while, and two- that your everyday life was somehow lacking in some essential way. You have a new suit on, so you have money – though the fact the suit’s new suggests a new job – It was far more likely that you were denying your sexuality to friends in family, being a professional man, you probably are very careful to hide it in the work place. The membership card you have is one only distributed to long term members, so you come often, you crave something. Part of it is giving in to your sexuality, part of it is just a need for human connection, but I saw the way your eyes dilated, and the way your gait changed – it became the walk of a predator.” 

John shivered at the hooded gaze Sherlock trapped him with, his tongue caressing the word ‘predator’ in an almost worshipful manner. He realized that they’d both leant forward, so close now they were almost breathing one another’s air. John watched those beautiful lips move, biting his own lower lip as Sherlock continued to speak in a hushed, silken tone. Idly he wondered when had this conversation had become foreplay. “You have a psycho-somatic limp, so of course you have a psychiatrist, but you’re clearly obsessed with the adrenaline, the thrill of the hunt. You keep coming back for more, so your shrink hasn’t done you much good. You’re a practical man, you dumped her as soon as you were able.” Sherlock’s gaze bore into him and he leant even closer, so close their lips brushed slightly as he spoke. “She thought you were scarred by the war, traumatized by the horror, but that isn’t it at all is it? You’re not haunted by the war, Doctor, you miss it.” John let out a shuddering breath, and licked his lower lip. Sherlock’s eyes slid shut as Johns tongue skimmed past his own lips. “That…” John panted, leaning back unwillingly, afraid he might start snogging Sherlock then and there. “That was amazing.” Sherlock looked surprised, a small smile tilting the corners of his mouth up. “Really?”

“Yeah.” John insisted seriously. “Absolutely fantastic.” He saw the way Sherlock flushed at the praise and grinned. _Ahhh, so he has a bit of a praise kink. I can work with that._

“That’s not what people usually say…” Sherlock interrupted his thoughts.

“Yeah? What do people usually say?”

He shrugged. “Piss off.”

John laughed out loud cutting himself off embarassedly, but Sherlock just looked pleased. The dark, sexual aura pulsed around him once more, and he leant forward. “ Now, about these rules…”


	2. Fantastic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8000 words. I'm posting roughly 8000 words, of mainly porn. There is something truly wrong with my life.  
> Ah well, here we go!  
> Thank you so much everyone for the lovely response! I'm glad people like this, and I hope to live up to your expectations. As I've said before this is based on a naughty book I read online, so I'm getting a lot of help and inspiration from that - but it's still a LOT of work. Right now I'm planning it to be around thirty chapters, but if they all end up being this length, that may get bumped up a bit. I hope you like this chapter, keep in mind, while the boys may seem slightly OOC, that's because I've not had much time to develop their characters, what with the sexing and all ;)

John took a deep breath and nodded. “Right, rules. They don’t have to be elaborate or anything, but just – just so we can both lay down expectations. A-and limits. So...um...” Shit, where had his brain gone?! Usually he could be suave and sexy, with a cool come-hither in his every word. But sitting there with this Sherlock, this guy who had understood his life in a minute, had really thrown him off his game. 

Sherlock seemed to take pity on him and asked simply “What do you want?” His tone was both amused, and seductive. He had perched his elbows on the table, and now folded his hands together, resting his chin upon them. Those fascinating eyes were serious, the light in them momentarily hidden. He was giving John time to get it together before he turned the sex appeal back on. 

John nodded. _keep it basic._ “Right now, I want to be tied up. And I want to be well used.” John was pleased to see Sherlock’s lips part slightly in a gasp – he wasn’t unaffected by any means. John continued, finally getting into the same speech he gave every man he met here. “No S &M, I’m not into pain. And condoms for both of us, even for blow jobs. And I won’t change my mind, so don’t even ask.” John waited, returning Sherlock’s intense stare. Sometimes condoms were a deal breaker, but John was a doctor, he knew the statistics and he refused to take risks. 

Sherlock just revealed a slow grin. “That fits what I’m looking for. Bondage is acceptable, but no fancy knot work, no suspension.” He slipped one of his hands across the space between them, and gently traced the line of John’s neck with a cool finger. “I must admit, I quite like the idea of seeing a collar on you...” John tensed, his knee jerk reaction was _Hell no!_ He felt sick at the idea of allowing anyone to have that kind of ownership over him. But he stopped himself from lashing out. He really, really wanted Sherlock. All this sitting around and talking was driving him mad, when all he wanted to do was jump the thinner man’s bones then and there. So instead he asked “Would a collar mean breath play?” 

Sherlock withdrew his finger, speaking carefully. “Not necessarily.” 

John shifted, blushing a bit. “Well... it could. I’m not opposed to breath play. The collar...” 

Sherlock spoke gently “You don’t want the collar.” 

“Well um –“ John squirmed, he really didn’t want to blow this. 

Sherlock gently curled his fingers around John’s jaw , forcing eye contact. “Honesty is everything John. This will not happen if you don't tell me the absolute truth." 

John nodded, blowing out another breath - _why is this so **difficult**?!_ "Right, you're right. Okay, no. I don't want a collar." 

Sherlock nodded. "That's quite alright, I was just thinking of how lovely it would look against your skin." 

John blushed, conjuring the image in his head and feeling a little disappointed that he'd said no. He shoved that thought aside and asked "What about you? Any rules or requests?" 

Sherlock sat for a moment, watching him with glittering eyes. Finally he spoke. I have no additional requests, everything you've said fits well with my own ideas. And frankly, I want to finish this quickly so I can get you into bed. But..." He hesitated a moment. "No drugs. Of any kind." 

John raised an eyebrow at him sardonically. "I'm a doctor Sherlock, do you really think I'd be such a fool?" 

Again, some unknown expression flitted across the pale man's face, then he smirked. "No, _Doctor_ I don't, but not because of your degree. I've known many medical men who poured untold amounts of garbage into their systems without a second thought." 

John snorted, thinking of some of his colleagues "I don't doubt it. Alright, no drugs has been established. Anything else?" 

"No alcohol." 

John cast a glance at the glass in the others elegant hands. "Bit hypocritical don't you think?" 

Sherlock grinned and pushed the glass away from himself. "True. I wouldn't have had any, but honestly I didn't believe I'd get anywhere with you." John raised his eyebrows at the admission, and was pleasantly surprised to see Sherlock blush. _Damn those glorious cheek bones. We need to finish this up . Pronto._ Sherlock explained "I could see you wanted me, but I assumed you'd be put off by my deductions." 

John leant forward, impulsively grabbing Sherlock's chin and kissing him roughly. He kept his lips closed, because he knew if he didn't things would devolve very quickly, and he wasn't an exhibitionist. He broke the kiss and pulled back a couple inches, pleased to see Sherlock chase after his mouth with his own. "When I want something, Sherlock, I take it. Deductions be damned." Sherlock grinned wickedly. John pushed back his chair and stood, holding out his hand to the taller man. "So no alcohol, fine with me. You've only had a few swallows, so leave the glass here and we'll say no more about it." Sherlock took his hand and stood. John halted a moment, pulling his hand away and making eye contact. "Just to be clear," he said. "I'm not looking for someone to fuck more than once. Tonight. That's it." 

Sherlock spoke without a moments hesitation. "I'm not after someone who wants a repeat." 

"Good." John turned away, but caught a slight frown on Sherlock's face out of the corner of his eye, as thought he were thinking hard about something. It didn't last long. It transformed into a devious grin, like a mask he'd assumed many times before. John eyed the taller man with curiosity. _What does he want? All I can give him is a guarantee to spend the night exchanging orgasms._ Despite the odd connection he felt to Sherlock, John stood firmly by his rules. A night like this was a hell of a lot more than most men got on a consistent basis. Sherlock should be grateful. "Want to head up then?" John asked. 

Sherlock nodded, and led the way to the staircase at the rear of the dining room. He paused at the reception desk at the top of the stairs. The club was efficient, and it didn't take long for Sherlock to have a key card in hand. 

He had selected a basic hotel style room that included a few bondage supplies, as well as a large four-poster bed positioned in the center of the room, a full bathroom, and a small bar lined with miniature bottles of liquor. The pillows, the chairs, the bed linens, the walls, and the carpet all had an absence of color. Nothing dark or illicit or unseemly. Enough white draped the room that it screamed virginal, which was worth a laugh. Despite his numerous nights at the club, the room was a first for John. He gravitated towards men who preferred the darker side of the Haven. He didn't care either way. The room's décor was not his priority. 

There was a moment of ringing silence as Sherlock closed the door and gathered John into his arms. Their lips and tongues connected, the kiss deepening with every second. John moaned into the taller man's mouth. His arms wound around Sherlock's thin shoulders. His groin pressed against a firm thigh. Sherlock's hands wandered through John's hair, down his back, over his ass, leaving a trail of tingles behind them. 

_God, we fit so well together._ Sherlock mesmerized John. He inhaled a raspy, guttural sound and rubbed his hand over his firming erection. Nothing could have stopped him. 

"I couldn't get a room without alcohol." Sherlock said without letting go of John. John nodded "All of them have it except the S&M ones." He murmured, pressing his lips against Sherlock's' again, relishing the silken, plump ones underneath his. "And I don't use those, ever. So it's okay, we'll just avoid that end of the room." 

Sherlock chuckled, a delicious, rumbling sound that vibrated through John's chest and made him slightly weak at the knees. "I don't think that will be a problem." He stepped away and walked towards the bed. John stood frozen for a minute, watching the magnificent cut of the suit as it rippled over Sherlock's ass. Sherlock turned back at John's low groan, and chuckled again. He took one of John's hand in his own pulling him forward, then let go and snaked the other around John's waist, tugging him close. John lost his footing and gripped Sherlock' biceps. _Damn_ The other man was surprisingly strong for all his leanness. The heat of his skin leaked through his shirt where John pressed a hand to his chest. John's fingers dug in as though they could sink through the fabric and into Sherlock's flesh. He longed to make pink and hot red marks on that alabaster skin with his nails, his teeth, any way he could really. 

John's kiss was soft when it landed again on Sherlock's lips, but once his mouth opened, it became fierce. He attacked Sherlock's tongue with his, the muscle strong as it twined around the other. He tasted breath mints. Had Sherlock popped a mint to wipe out the taste of liquor, since they'd agreed not to drink? 

No. Guys didn't do that kind of courteous shit for each other. 

Sherlock's lips broke away, skating over John's earlobe and traveled down. His hot breath warmed John's already over heated skin. He shuddered. 

Sherlock released John and turned to walk across the room. _Where the hell is he going?!_ John wanted more of that kiss. His hand shot out and cupped Sherlock's neck, forcing his mouth back to Sherlock's. He swiped his tongue over his lower lip in a slow taste, Sherlock spread his lips and traced John's tongue with his own, giving in to the demand. 

John had never been big on kissing. It wasn't a connection he was after. That could have been because he'd never been kissed by anyone like Sherlock. From the hard passionate kisses to this sweet, sensual exploration, John was appreciating the act in a whole new light. 

The heat of Sherlock's mouth made Johns own saliva seem cool. He eased up on the kiss, and John shoved against him harder. He wanted a fuck, but he wasn't ready for Sherlock's lips to leave his. He was too damn good. Sherlock moaned. His hands explored John's neck, his shoulder, his back. Thin, artists hands seemed to trace and categorize every muscle, testing firmness and sensitivity. His fingers worked to learn every line, every curve of John's body through the clothes. John ached to feel those exceptional hands on his skin. Sherlock moved against him, his suit covered cock dragging over John. He wanted this, needed it. John appreciated that. Sherlock exuded sex, but there was more to him. He worked John's mouth and body with more than a desire to get off. Sherlock consumed him. When Sherlock finally drew back, John pouted. Sherlock chuckled, walking backward until he sat on the bed. 

John regarded his partner for the night. He sat on the bed, his legs parted , gliding his large thin hand over the front of his trousers. He looked like a wanton god with his wild curls and electric eyes, consuming John where he stood. 

"Are you going fuck me?" John asked, trying to keep the pleading whine out of his voice. 

"I'd like to watch you first, before we get to the tying you up part. If you don't mind." John shivered as Sherlock spoke. As if he could deny that commanding, rumbling voice anything. Sherlock stood, taking Johns hands and pulling him towards the bed. He stopped at the edge and purred into John's ear. "Get yourself going for me, John. Get yourself hard and ready to burst. And get rid of those clothes." He licked John's ear, then walked away, and leaned against the far wall. 

John grasped his own arm for a minute with a trembling hand, then finally kicked off his shoes and socks, shucked his coat and tie, and crawled onto the bed. Was he nervous?! He was never nervous, yet he felt slightly shaky, overwhelmed by Sherlock's commanding, intoxicating presence. "Take it slow."Sherlock added. John nodded, without meeting Sherlock's gaze. 

"You aren't going to watch all night, are you?" John wanted Sherlock to touch him, to give him pleasure in ways he couldn't give himself. He wanted to _feel_ him, not just know he was there. 

"Hell, no." Sherlock said breathily, the curse sounding odd and deliciously sinful in his educated, rumbling tone. "I simply want to enjoy the view." He stroked himself again through his pants. 

John wanted to see his cock, breathe in the scent, watch it pulse in his hand, see the beads of his desire form at the tip, knowing it would be in his ass eventually that night. It took all his willpower not to march and grab hold of him. 

"Good," he said. "Sooner rather than later, eh?" John couldn't keep the rough desperation out of his own voice. 

Sherlock chuckled again, sending a wave of shivers through John. "Don't worry, I won't abandon you." His chest heaved as he stroked himself harder and faster through his clothing. 

John threw his head back on the bed, running a hand across one pectoral and down, shivering as he grazed past his nipple. His other hand tentatively rubbed his cock. A tremble seized his body. Even through the clothes, the contact sent him spiraling out of control. John ran one hand through his own neat hair, tugging it roughly in his frustration as he continued to stroke himself. Sherlock groaned, staring at John with feverish eyes. John felt mad. He needed Sherlock, needed to get them both naked, get Sherlock inside him, get inside Sherlock. John was surprised by that thought. He pressed hard against his now bulging erection as he thought about it. He didn't usually want it both ways with one person. He either wanted to top or be topped. But now he found he was fantasizing just as much about his cock in Sherlock's ass, as he was about Sherlock's cock in his. _What the hell is he doing to me?..._

John's fingers were clumsy as they worked on his shirt. Slowly, one button after another popped open, and his hands abandon other work to map out his own chest. He swiped a finger over a nipple, then pinched and tugged. He groaned, with Sherlock echoing him. The sound of it seemed to surge through the room, swelling with the movements of the two men on opposite sides of the room. John's heated eyes met Sherlock's. Sherlock's lips parted in a gasp, and John smiled. He wanted Sherlock's mouth back on his, their tongues tangling. 

John shed his shirt, throwing it randomly across the room, and slid a hand over the front of his trousers. He was breathing in gasps as he worked the top button open. He wanted Sherlock to dip his hand inside. He _**needed**_ his touch. He ached for it. 

Sherlock was perfection, but everything was moving slower than John's usual evenings at the club. Especially since one of the night's two participants still stood against the wall and touched only himself. 

John licked his lips, running one hand desperately across his naked chest. His other hand slipped inside the back of his trousers. He shoved down his trousers and pants and cupped his own ass, desperate for the sensations. But the firm grip was nothing like the touch of another. John's erect cock worked free of the fabric. A low sigh spilled out of Sherlock. _The man likes what he sees._ John thought. _So why won't he touch me?!_

Sherlock's mouth was open as his eyes followed John's hands, proceeding lower and lower. John explored his own body until he paused before his cock. John watched Sherlock stare at it, licking his lips, while John kicked off his trousers and pants. _You want a taste, don't you?_

God, how John longed to coil his fingers in that dark, silky hair. 

John licked his hand, then drew two fingers into his mouth, sucking on them noisily. He grinned as he heard Sherlock moan again. John pulled his slick fingers out of his mouth, and ran them suddenly around his balls. He almost shouted at the sensation, feeling like he could come there and then. He moved his fingers away before he lost all control, running them along his stomach and up his chest until he reached a nipple. He paused to lick his fingers again, make more noise than was actually needed in an attempt to shake Sherlock into action. His fingers went back and forth between his nipples, pinching and twisting, the nubs burning so, so sweetly. All the while he felt those impossible eyes burning into him. . God, he was flying already, Sherlock got him going faster than anyone ever had, and he hadn't even touched him yet. He finally ran his hand down and wrapped it around his cock, pulling and twisting slowly, sensually. 

"Yes - " He heard Sherlock gasp, and his eyes flew open to meet the green-blue ones. "Yes, John, just like that." Sherlock looked wrecked, slumped against the wall, his hair tumbled forward and breathing labored as he watched John pleasure himself. John hummed in response, continuing to stroke as he watched Sherlock finally begin to strip. Thin white hands yanked his suit jacket off roughly, and it was deposited who-knew-where. John watched fascinated as elegant fingers stumbled from one shirt button to next, slowly exposing a hairless, lightly defined chest. John almost whimpered, squeezing himself hard to keep from coming at the sight. The shirt was open, and Sherlock stepped away from then wall to let it slide from his slim shoulders. John was pleased to observe that although Sherlock was slim, his shoulders were broad, and there was no small amount of muscle there. Sherlock's hands dropped, and he swiftly worked his trousers and pants off. 

John admired the impressive length of Sherlock's cock. Seeing a man hard for him always turned him on like nothing else. _I did that,_ He told himself. _I made him desperate._ He watched fascinated as Sherlock took himself in hand and, keeping the touches light, ran his thumb along the side until reaching the head, and squeezed. Sherlock groaned. His hips snapped. And he never stopped watching John. 

Most men closed their eyes once their cock was touched. Most guys busied themselves enjoying John's body. 

Not Sherlock. He leaned forward slowly, stroking himself, watching John with a kind of worship in his gaze. John sat up and forced his own eyes shut, not able to handle the emotion he saw in Sherlock's gaze. He gripped himself hard, thrusting as he lost himself in the feeling. The delicious sensation almost distracted him from the warm breath that suddenly painted the back of his neck. Sherlock wound his arms around John's waist and pushed his hands away, taking John's cock in a large hand and stroking in a slow, appreciative grope. The touch, after being denied for what felt an eternity (but was really only minutes) shook John to his core. At that moment, John was absolutely captured. He could think of nothing beyond this room, this man, this moment in time. 

He leaned back and savored the firm chest against his back. John certainly wasn't a small man, but he could feel the power in the body behind him. He was sure that Sherlock could lift him and fuck him against a wall without Johns feet ever touching the floor. A shiver spread throughout his body. Sherlock rocked against him, his hard shaft grazed the top of John's ass. "Good Man," He croaked "'bout time you got here." 

Sherlock's lips swept over his ear. "Loved watching you." Sherlock rumbled. "Thank you, John." John savored the sound of his name spoken in that voice. It was strangely intimate, having his name spoken. Usually the men he met at the Haven never used it. They either never addressed him directly, never used any name, or used a pet name. Sherlock speaking his name in that shaken, lust-filled voice was so oddly... personal. That was ironic, considering John was naked in his arms. But that was physical intimacy. Sherlock, Sherlock was something different. He held nothing back, his emotions flowed freely, and while he expressed them with his body, it was the emotion, not the action, that was key. "Lay down, John." Sherlock murmured. "It's time to get you ready." 

With some regret, John pulled away. He wanted to lie down and get fucked, and still hold onto Sherlock. No one had ever felt so good wrapped around him, he had never let someone take this much time wrapped around him, basically snuggling. John was usually all about the blow job, or the rimming, or the connection of dick and ass. 

John stretched out on his back and was awarded with another striking vision of Sherlock. He stood by the bed, eyes half-lidded as he stroked himself, pale skin once more glowing in the half light. John watched Sherlock's talented fingers move up and down, jerking and twisting leisurely, as though he had all the time in the world. Had it not been such a turn-on, John would have been annoyed. Instead, he sat and stared and ran his hands along his thighs as the erotic show played out beside him. He'd never come to the club to spend time watching before. Seemed like a waste of the membership dues. 

Sherlock's fingers halted, leaving both men breathless. Sherlock raised a hand and ran it slowly over John's lips, John opened his mouth and eagerly sucked the precome from Sherlock's fingers. He tasted amazing, John didn't know how this man managed to taste better than any he'd ever tasted before. Sherlock released a shuddering breath and withdrew his fingers, instead leaning forward to brush his lips against John's, again shocking him with the gentility and sweetness of the action. Sherlock stared intensely into John's eyes, making him want to shrink away from the power of the gaze. "I'm going to suck you off," The pale man growled, "and then I'm going to bind you." 

"Oh, yeah... okay." John was far too desperate to be embarrassed at his own stilted speech. He was impressed he could speak at all. Sherlock grinned, and scrambled to the bar. He grabbed several condoms and small tubes of lube from a bowl, then bounced his way to the bed, as though he could not wait to finally get his mouth on John. John couldn't blame him, though he found the sudden switches in Sherlock's mood leaving him breathless. Sherlock flopped onto the bed, making the mattress bounce with him. His mouth formed a small 'o' and his eyes widened. He laughed, his curly hair swaying with the chuckles. The sudden joy and ease of the sound was contagious, and John joined him. 

John had never laughed in a room at the Haven before. 

Sherlock crawled forward. He licked John's body as soon ashe reached his thighs, humming andrubbing against John, exploring his body with his tongue. _How could he go from laughing to deep need again that fast?!_ John wondered. _More importantly, how did he get me right there with him?_

Sherlock knew more tricks with his mouth than John had ever experienced. He'd also touched more of John in the past few minutes than all of his sexual partners at the club ever had. And yet, John wanted more. 

Sherlock trailed eager kisses towards John's cock. He licked the line where hip met leg. John arched into it, and his head fell back. John heard Sherlock tear the condom wrapper open. He lifted his head. "Kiss me again." _What the hell? More kissing?!_ But he couldn't take it back. He wanted Sherlocks mouth on his lips again, his tongue connecting with John's. 

Sherlock shot up. "Yes. Yeah." It seemed his vocabulary was as affected as John's. He straddled John's hips, and his lips brushed against John's in a short, chaste kiss. "I love this." 

"I can tell." John wrapped his hands around his neck and encouraged Sherlock to kiss him again. Sherlock rocked in unison with the movements of their tongues, and a familiar swell surged through john's cock. He groaned. "Fuck. I'm gonna come just from kissing you." 

Sherlock smiled. "No. No, not yet. Let me--" He slid down, rolled the condom on, and sucked John all the way in. 

_Holy gods._

Not too many guys could go down that far on John. His lips dragged over John's shaft, and he sucked the sensitive head for a moment before pulling off. "You're sure? About the rubber?" 

John grit his teeth. He didn't want this fight now. "I said--" 

"Yes. I know." Sherlock nodded, again that odd look appeared in his eye, as though he was trying to solve a puzzle. "It's just-- Most men--…. I wouldn't mind." 

"Just stop talking and put your lips on the damn condom." John realized the words sounded harsh, and grinned, running fingers across Sherlock's cheek. He was surprised at his own consideration, he was never this gentle. Sherlock bit his plush lower lip, a glint his eye, then drew John back into his mouth. 

"Yeah, Sherlock-- ah fuck." He sucked harder. John's pelvis rocked. The suction pushed him deeper inside Sherlock's mouth. John twisted his fingers in the bed sheet and flattened his body to the bed. Sherlock knew what he was doing. He didn't want to take control when it was clear the gorgeous man could take care of him. But since when did he leave it all up to the other guy?? John said what he wanted. He took what he wanted. 

Sherlock pulled off with a wet noise. "Is it that good?" 

"God, yes." John moaned. Sherlock ran a hand along John's jaw, his bright, now green eyes fixated on him. John tilted his chin and drew Sherlock's finger into his mouth, sucking in time as Sherlock's hand pulled at his cock. Sherlock watched John's mouth work around his fingers, and he gulped down a stiff swallow. 

He suddenly pulled away, walking across the room, and John heard him open the supply cabinet. Part of him wanted to know what Sherlock would use to bind him, and part of him wanted to wait until the restraints made contact with his body. Sherlock came back, and gently lifted John's right arm over his head. He wrapped a rope around John's wrist, stretched his arm taught, and tied off the rope. Then he restrained John's left arm in the same way. John's heart pounded. Knowing he couldn't get away from Sherlock heightened every sensation.

Sherlock nodded to his shoulder where the ugly scar resided. "You must tell me if anything hurts." 

"Yeah. Okay." _Just **touch me!**_ John wanted to shout, not caring if he wrenched his shoulder out of the socket at this point. Sherlock descended, taking John's cock into his mouth once more. He moaned, and John swore at the feeling, trying not to thrust up into that perfect wet heat. What made this so intense? Was it the idea of John tied up, or was just that Sherlock was so turned on by sucking him? His hard prick rubbed along john's leg. John loved it when a man could get off from a little sucking and humping. 

Sherlock pulled off again. "Don't hold back John, I can handle it." He took John in deep again. His head bobbed in a quick rhythm, swirling his tongue in a way that threatened to pull John into oblivion before too long. His hands found John's ass, encouraging john to thrust. 

John didn't argue with him. He heaved off the bed and into his slick, hot mouth. The movement was awkward without the use of his arms-- or his legs since Sherlock still pressed down on him-- But he kept moving. And Sherlock took it all. 

The warmth of that white body tempted him. John wanted to reach out and caress the strong back, the firm pecs, feel the power, the flex of lean muscle. The ropes kept it a distant wish, and John was almost angry that he'd asked to be restrained. A man like Sherlock deserved to be explored, touched, tasted. 

He took a good look instead. Toned body, glorious chest heaving as Sherlock continued sucking. He had beautiful face, the long nose brushing into John's pubic hair as he moved. John was fascinated by the way the sweaty dark curls swayed on his head. He wanted to get his tongue on him. Taste his flesh. Suddenly John's mind flew back to the present, as Sherlock shoved a wet finger into his ass. John thrust wildly two more times. His upper body left the bed, jerking the ropes tight, and he cried out as he came, the shrill sound sounding nothing like him. 

It was all he wanted. 

But He needed more. He needed Sherlock to fuck him, take him while John yanked at the ropes, while he felt the push , the burn, the surrender. Sherlock rested his tousled head on John's thigh and exhaled in heavy pants that mirrored John's own. When his breathing slowed, he knelt between John's legs. If the ropes hadn't been holding John back, he'd have taken him in his hand. His eyes, half-closed and hazy with need, studied John. He brought his lips to John's. The kiss was slow and tender. How could he hold back like that when he was so close to the edge? John pressed his forehead against Sherlock's shoulder. "You feel so good." 

"Mmm..." Sherlock rumbled. "Well, how's this feel?" He drew his hand across John's chest and teased a nipple. The other hand deftly removed the condom from John's length, and Sherlock pulled away for a moment to dispose of it in the trash can. Then he went back to teasing John. He smirked at the way John was splayed out on the bed, basking in his post-orgasmic glow. Sherlock hauled John up, careful to adjust the ropes before kneeling behind him and pulling him back against his chest. "Don't get too cozy John, we have barely even begun." He poured a little lube on his hand, reached around and begun stroking John, all the while worrying his nipples with the other hand. John's hips moved of their own accord, following Sherlock's rhythm. 

The contact so soon after his orgasm was overwhelming, yet absolutely perfect. John seemed to lose all control of his tongue, and he began babbling. "Oh. That... that's … hnn, Sherlock... your hands are so huge and... agh.. t-talented." He felt Sherlock grinning against his neck between the sucking kisses he placed there. Before long, the sensations overwhelmed John, his cock willing itself back to full interest. He'd never had such a quick turnaround. Not even when he'd been a teen. But Sherlock's hands and kisses were like nothing else. 

John turned his head blindly, searching out Sherlock's lips, groaning happily when he found them. Suddenly Sherlock pushed John back, straddling him so that he was lying on top of John, with his hands on either side of his head, nipping and licking across his neck and shoulders. 

John arched off the bed, rubbing his cock against Sherlock's lower stomach. "I want... I need... Fuck." Words abandoned him. He wanted to feel Sherlock in him, rough and hard and wonderful. He yanked at the ropes. Sherlock was driving him crazy. The other man pulled back, staring down at John with eyes that had turned grey and stormy. "I'm going to fuck you, John. Hard. And you are going to scream." 

All the air suddenly vanished from John's lungs . "That's... I won't argue with that." 

Sherlock smirked, stroking Johns thighs. John quivered at the simple touch. _They're just hands. What the hell's the big deal?_

"I left your legs untied," he said. "I want to feel your legs wrapped around me." 

"Good. That's... um... good." John was finding it incredibly difficult to form sentences. Sherlock's cock pushing through his own hand distracted him from forming more cohesive words. Sherlock leaned over and grabbed another condom. He rolled it on and shifted until he was leaning over John again, taking John's mouth in an almost vicious kiss. Teeth and tongues twisted and collided in a fight for domination Sherlock easily one. The scent of sweat and Sherlock's crisp cologne flooded john's nostrils. It was not overwhelming, but subtle and strangely soothing. It made John want him more. Did he slather himself in some sort of aphrodisiac? 

Sherlock pulled back, lifted Johns legs and angled his hips. Two slick fingers brushed over John's entrance, stroking again and again, before finally pushing in. John moaned, losing himself to the burn. Sherlock pressed his long fingers in farther, teased, twirled, fucked John with his fingers. 

John's ass clenched around the talented digits. How many men had touched John there? And not a single one had ever made it as good, had ever spent so much time just focusing on him. The pleasure went on and on. _He should write a goddamn book._ John thought randomly. _An instruction manual on that touch alone. John's knees were now pulled to his chest, so he could not see Sherlock work. And somehow, that turned him on even more. Desperate again, John didn't know if he'd be able to wait to come until Sherlock was inside him. When the hell was the last time that happened? When no one was even touching his cock? Another press. Another swirl. How long could he keep him on edge?!_

Then Sherlock's fingers were gone, and John was empty, anxious to feel his touch again. He clenched his eyes shut, desperate to feel Sherlock again, desperate to get off. He also felt a surprising need to get Sherlock off. After all the attention that had been lavished on his body, he _needed_ to return the favor. 

The head of Sherlock's slick, sheathed cock rubbed along John's ass. "Ready John?" 

With his arms tied to the bed, and his brain utterly incapable of forming words, John used the one way he had tp let Sherlock know how much he needed Sherlock inside him. He rocked his hips, and his eyes rolled back in his head as the tip of Sherlock's cock drove into him. 

"God, yes." Sherlock growled with the words. "John." His first thrust came slow, but went deep. Hot, and perfect, he repeated the motion, and John tugged and moaned, the sound muted as he bit his lip. Sherlock bent forward and began to thrust harder, his pace was rough, but he kept his movements shallow, soothing and torturing John at the same time. Sherlock's eyes met Johns' his stare intense. He didn't just watch John; he looked inside him. It was too intimate, too personal, too connected. 

John wanted to turn away, but he couldn't. He saw something he liked in Sherlock's gaze. Something in the way he needed John right then. Thin hands wrapped around the ropes holding John, and Sherlock began to thrust in earnest. He went deeper with each shove into John, the force of each trust rocking them both. John was babbling, his words making no sense. Sherlock slammed into him roughly, suddenly changing the angle, and John's voice turned to screams and moans. He grew louder than he'd ever heard himself, or anyone before. _God, I love this._ It had been worth the wait. Sherlock's hips jerked, slamming into John with tight, wrenching movements, swirling his hips slightly as he pulled back. 

John tightened his legs around him, loving the power of Sherlock's movements. He forced his eyes open and stared up at Sherlock. a fine sheen of sweat covered his upper body, several beads dripped, and John felt it when every drop struck against his sensitive skin. Sherlock's pelvis slapped against his ass harder. A bolt of pleasure zipped through him. 

"Yes! More." John arched, and the ropes tightened. 

"John!" Sherlock kept at it, kept moving in him, grunting with each shove. He slumped forward and kissed him, his body pressed close. 

"I have to--" John gasped, arms jerking as he instinctively reached for his cock, but was stopped by the rope. 

"Not yet, John." Sherlock growled. His hands slid down, and he traced John's nipples. John lifted his arms, and the restraints cough him again. The usual pinch and burn form the ropes wasn't there. He hands hadn't gone numb yet, and didn't feel likely to. Clearly Sherlock knew what he was doing. 

Sherlock snapped his hips even faster as he dragged his cock in and out, over and over again. John groaned and closed his eyes, focusing on every touch stimulating him. 

"Open your eyes." Sherlock said. 

John heard the words, but his body didn't react. Sherlock stilled, his cock hanging half out of him. John's eyes snapped open. "What the fuck?" He gasped. "Why are you stopping?!" 

"Don't close your eyes." Sherlock growl was low and commanding. "Look. At. me." 

John pleaded. "Don't stop. Need to come..." 

"Watch me." Sherlock moved again, slow at first, then picking up speed. The muscles in his long arms flexed, and his thin fingers dug into John's hips. John wanted to run his hands of the lithe frame, bury his nose in Sherlock's chest, and devour his scent. His hands twitched in their self-imposed prison. 

With each thrust, John's toes curled. His legs shot higher and squeezed around Sherlock. His eyes rolled, and he let them fall shut. 

Everything stopped. 

"Fuck." john's voice cracked, and he almost whimpered. He opened his eyes wide. 

"I'm trying to, John." Sherlock's voice sounded as strained as his own, but his eyes teased. He held still a moment more. Then he slammed into John with a long, hard plunge. 

John wailed. "Yes! Don’t stop! God- Sherlock- Sherlock!" 

Every time John's eyes closed, Sherlock topped moving, stopped driving into him. As soon as John made eye contact with him, he started again. His hips slammed faster than before. The sound of their bodies smacking together was lewd and delicious as it filled the room. The frustration built. Despite the pace, this wasn't a quick fuck to get off, like many of John's nights at the club. This was a slow build-up of need. And deep down, John liked it. He needed it. 

Sherlock finally resumed his earlier pace, slamming roughly into John again and again, so hard John thought he might bruise. Sherlock leant forward and bit into his chest, sharp, burning bites. He left at least a dozen of them, clinging to the flesh as they rocked wildly together. a wild rant poured from John's lips, punctuated by Sherlock's moans and grunts of "John." 

"Sherlock! fuck- fuck- Sherl- Gah! God brilliant! so fucking brilliant! Sherlock- fuck so perfect, so -- g-AH CHRIST!!" Here, Sherlock slammed head on into his prostate, and John actually saw stars. Sherlock continued to hit his prostate dead-on, and one long hand left his hip to work his cock. With only a few rough Jerks, John was coming, howling as he did so. He stared at Sherlock as he shuddered and rode out his orgasm. Only at the end of his spasms did his eyes close and his head tilt back. Strong hands found his face and his eyes flew open. Sherlock's burning gaze bore into his eyes as he thrust jerkily. The word "Christ" slithered out from between clenched teeth like a hiss. His body rocked with pleasure until he collapsed onto John's chest, John's legs still in the air. 

Sherlock's breathing sounded as labored as John's. "That... that was fantastic." He lifted up and planted a long, deep kiss on John's lips. 

_What the fuck?_

John wanted to push him away. They'd already come, he didn't need Sherlock to kiss him. But he didn't stop him. He opened his mouth and caressed Sherlock's tongue with his own. Sherlock pulled back, and gave another soft press of his lips to John's. Then he leant down and pressed kissed to his neck, his collar bone, his chest. John couldn't take his eyes off him. 

He loved that Sherlock's cock was still buried in him while they kissed. He loved that Sherlock hadn't rolled off and gotten dressed as soon as he'd finished fucking John. And what the hell did that mean? John was always the first one out the door after the cum went flying. He shifted, trying to give Sherlock a clue. 

Sherlock leant back and held John's gaze for a moment before he gripped the condom and withdrew. He stood and unfastened John's restraints, checking each wrist and rubbing each hand. " Are you alright?" 

John swallowed and searched for his voice. "Yeah. You know what you're doing. _God, does he know what he's doing._

Sherlock grabbed towels from the cabinet and sprawled across the foot of the bed, tossing John a towel. "I don't like to cause pain, it doesn't interest me." John just hummed and settled his hands behind his head, relaxing into the sated warmth, feeling calm, comfortable, alive. 

The fact that a sexual experience had caused the feeling gave John pause. Sex was for pleasure. During the act he wanted to fly, feel a loss of control, a release. But when it was done, it was over. It wasn't supposed to make him feel so damn secure. 

Suddenly Sherlock blurted out "Are you going to be back anytime soon?" 

John had just gotten his brains fucked out, but he was pretty sure he'd given Sherlock the usual remarks about keeping it to a one-time thing. "Maybe." He said. He slid to the end of the bed, stood, and threw on his trousers and shoes. "You can use the shower if you want." He grinned at Sherlock. "You look like you could use it." 

Sherlock stood and shifted from one foot to another. "Yeah.... yes." He raked a hand through his sweat soaked curls. The remnants of John's cum shone on his fingers, and his hair slicked back with it. _My cum looks good in his hair._ John pictured him on his knees, with John jacking himself then shooting on Sherlock' perfect hair and chiseled face. 

_I need to get the hell out of here._

Sherlock never glanced away from John as he traveled the distance from the bed to the bathroom. "In case you aren't here when I get back, that was marvelous. Truly... wonderful." 

John nodded but couldn't keep his gaze level with Sherlock's. "Thank you, I... needed that." 

"Me too." Sherlock said. Once he slipped into the smaller room, John wrestled his Shirt on, then hunted for his tie and jacket. He felt as though the room was watching him. He went to the door. He paused for a moment, listening to the water running in the bathroom, and feeling as though there were unsaid words hanging, burning in the air. His hand gripped the doorknob until his knuckles turned white. 

He stepped out into the hall and jerked the door shut. _What the hell?_ John didn't thank anyone. Not for something as simple as fucking. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> URRRG JOHN! WHY YOU SO DUMB?!  
> because I want him to be, nyah!  
> Just kidding guys, I'm really pumped about this fic, I have a great plot planned out, and it's gonna be a bumpy ride. But there's lotsa sex planned so it'll all be okay. Please review and tell me if you see any problems. Suggestions are welcome and let me know if there's anything you'd like to see, I like to be obliging. Ciao for now!


	3. Lingering Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is very hard and very paranoid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAAAAY I'm posting before my own due date!!!! I am so happy! I NEVER get things done on time, let alone early,. Yet here we are :)  
> So, I realize now, John is definitely going to be a bit OOC, just because I've monkeyed a whole lot with his history - but he's still lovable John deep down. Very deep down. I wanted to keep going with this chap, but this really was the right place to stop. Here's a closer look at John, and there are more insights to come soon. I'm gonna keep saying Sunday is my upload date, and if I get it up before then, so be it. I hope you like it! Thank you so much for all the support this fic has already gotten, it's really overwhelming!

The walk down to the main floor of the club was never as anticipation filled as the walk up, but it didn't bother John. He didn't mind anyone knowing what he'd been up to in a room upstairs. The club was a safe-zone. People came and went, interacting calmly, in an adult manner, never questioning and never judging others' tastes or choices. It was live and let live - or in this case, fuck and let fuck. John liked the idea that it was an environment where things could be that uncomplicated.

The bar was as crowded as before and would remain that way until the place closed. Many who came to the club wanted to keep the night going, even after they'd taken a walk up the stairs. Not John. One quick drink and he'd head home. He never stayed long after the sex, but tonight, something wouldn't let him walk out. Something in him wanted to hold on to the night a little longer, hold on to the lingering sensations of Sherlock all over his body. No man had ever had him so undone.

John slumped onto a stool.

One of the regular bartenders saw him and came over. "Hey, John. Mr.Sholto wanted you to know he's in tonight."

"Thanks. He been waiting long?"

"Not long. He's at his usual table."

A delighted smile hit John's lips. Major James Sholto was the one man who could elicit such a response without the anticipation of sexual follow-up. He was also the only member of the clue whose last name everyone knew. He no longer frequented the club on a regular basis, but he'd been a member since the day the place opened. He had been John's superior and good friend in the military, John had the utmost respect for the man, who had saved his life more than once. James had proved himself yet again when he had helped John get back on his feet after he'd been sent home. It was Sholto who'd introduced John to the Haven. And for that, John was eternally in his debt.

James sat on the other side of the room, his legs crossed, and arm draped over the back of his chair, a glass of whiskey in his hand. His gaze swept over the dancing crowd. The grey at his temples dusting into the ginger hair gave him a distinguished demeanor. As a soldier, he'd kept in shape his entire life. Even his years as a major and being sent home hadn't softened him. There was a hard edge to his build. Yet his demeanor fit his current job: the CEO of his own security tech company. 

He was the first man John had screwed at the club, and was the only member John called a friend. He would've considered the man the closest thing to a father figure he knew as an adult, but since he'd sucked his cock, he kept that analogy to a minimum.

John sat as his table. "I didn't see you when I came down."

James gave up on the crowd and smirked. "I noticed you were preoccupied." He tipped his glass at a young waiter who was near the table. "And a beer for my friend." Sholto's gaze followed the young man's retreat to the bar behind John.

"He's cute." John said, grinning at James' expression. 

Jame's met his stare and gave a shallow nod. "It's good to see you, John. Haven't talked with you in a while.

"Checking up on me?"

He tilted his drink John's way. "You usually need checking up on."

John huffed a short laugh. "I've been okay. Work's keeping me busy."

"It's good that you're taking time off. Then again, you wouldn't miss a Friday night at the Haven."

"Not a chance. Though, actually I've missed a couple, because of the new job. " John's mind flicked back to Sherlock. "It's fantastic to be back."

"Mm. That's why I'm here," James said. "I wanted to talk with you. Something came up with Vargas." John looked up at the mention of the club's manager.

The waiter suddenly appeared with their drinks. James sipped his new whiskey before saying more. "I met with him on a few security issues. He asked me to speak with you."

"Did I do something wrong?" John to a long drink of his beer, praying he wasn't about to get booted from the club.

"No." James looked grim. He set his glass on the table and rubbed the side of it with the pad of his thumb. "He received a call about you earlier this week."

John's pint clanked onto the table. "About me?"

"The man didn't give a name. Just asked how long you've been a member. How often you're here."

John felt as though a vice was clamping down on his chest. "And what did Vargas tell him?"

Sholto quirked an eyebrow. "Nothing, of course. Vargas has managed this club too many years to risk upsetting his clientele. He doesn't discuss club members with anyone, especially an anonymous caller. He just wanted you to know someone was asking about you." James sipped his whiskey and scrutinized John. "Your father?"

John snorted. "Who else?"" Whether John's father had made the call himself was beside the point. It didn't bother John that the man knew he was a member of a gay sex club. What angered and shook him was that he'd discovered where John played. His stalkers would be following him on the way home.

James' mouth was a thin line. "Eventually someone's going to push the topic of his son." He spoke slowly, watching John. "No one knows anything about you. You can't be in politics for long and hide your family, hide the fact that--"

"Your son's a queer?"

"I take it he'll blame you for any fallout with his conservative constituents?"

"That's an understatement. It's more like he will and does blame me for everything wrong in his life."

James knew John's father had hurt him years ago, but he knew few details. He didn't press the topic. Most of the time he when to push. And when not to. He switched topics.

"So, who were you with tonight?" Genuine and direct. There was no bullshit with James, it was part of the reason John liked him.

"A man named Sherlock."

James' eyes widened infinitesimally. "That wouldn't be the one who makes all the mad deductions would it? The dark angel that makes the rest of these guys look like Calvin Klein wannabes ?"

John lifted his beer for another swig and smirked before the glass hit his lips. "That'd be him."

"Ah. Quite the night then...." There seemed to be something odd in James' tone, and he looked at John curiously. John return the look. "You know him, eh? The way I just got to know him?" John wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, making Sholto huff a laugh. John chuckled as well, finally relaxing. Their banter loosened him up in a way little else did. That was until he'd found himself upstairs the man they were discussing. John had never let go like that at the club, and he hadn't let go like that _outside_ of the club in years. That thought was bothering him- more than when he'd been in bed with Sherlock.

"No." James groaned, using a regretful tone John rarely heard. "That man is much too much for me too handle. And too young." He shook his head. "I haven't played in years." He waved his hand at the crowd of dancing men as if the idea of being with any of them was absurd. He seized his drink and raised it to his lips again. The whiskey was savored in a long, slow sip. He watched John over the edge of the glass. 

"You've made exception on occasion." John said.

James tipped his head back and laughed again. "Oh, I certainly have." Then he eyed John again. "So Sherlock, hey? I've heard a few things, legends really. He's... Intense."

A snort escaped John. "You can say that again." He signaled to the waiter and ordered another beer. He felt he needed it. 

"You're lucky you were here tonight." James continued after the drink had been brought. "He hasn't been in the club in quite some time." 

“I’d never seen him before.” Just thinking about Sherlock was causing a renewed stirring in his trousers. He shifted in his seat. He had to get his ass home and his mind off the club. 

“The last time he was here on a regular basis was more than five years ago. And before you ask again, no, we never ‘hooked up’ as you kids called it.” John rolled his eyes, Sholto just smirked. “Last time I saw him, we were both on to something more serious.”

“Serious?” John lifted his beer again in an attempt to appear casual, but the question wasn’t at all. _Why am I interested in Sherlock’s past?_ He definitely needed to get home. 

“He and his partner didn’t come to the club once they were exclusive.”

“But he’s back.” 

James smirked at John’s eager response. _Must have been a hell of an evening to get John this interested. ‘Bout damn time_ “Yeah, he’s back, but only because Vargas asked him to come.” John tilted his head casually, but he was burning inside. “Sherlock, his full name’s Sherlock Holmes, he’s a detective.” 

”Private?”

“Mmm, not exactly. He takes private commissions, but he works with the police.” 

John’s face twisted in confusion. “How’s that?”

Sholto waved his hand frustrated. “Don’t ask me to explain, I don’t rightly understand it myself. All I know is, Vargas has been seeing some shady business going on around the club. Vargas didn’t like it, but he doesn’t want to call in the coppers, it could prove fatal for the club. You of all people know how much these customers value their privacy.” 

John nodded. He knew that if he ever caught one whiff of Police at the club, he’d be gone. And never come back. He simply couldn’t afford the kind of exposure that usually came with police investigations. Not many of the men who came here could. “So, instead of the police, Vargas called Sherlock?”

“Yeah. He’s brilliant, well – you saw his deductions.” John shifted again, and Sholto grinned. “You would be turned on by that.”

John frowned “What’s that mean, then?” 

James shook his head and chuckled. “You never do the sane thing. Any normal person would punch Holmes in the face after one of his speeches; you just get a damn hard-on!”

John didn’t respond, just grinned and took another swig of his beer. James watched him a minute, then shrugged. “Well, It was a fight to get Sherlock to come back here, or so Vargas told me. In the end he had to give him a free six-month membership - on top of a hefty fee.” 

John smirked “Sounds like a nice deal. Money and free sex.”

James shook his head “He only wanted to use the card for the case. He told Vargas quite openly he would bin the card as soon as things were wrapped up.”

“So...” John’s brow furrowed. “ If he wasn’t interested in the club’s... services, why’d he...”

“Service _you_?” James asked, only laughing when John flipped him off. Suddenly he sobered and said “I dunno Lad, I guess he saw something he just had to have.” That made John smile, thinking back to his own words. _’When I want something Sherlock, I take it. Deductions be damned.’_ That had been a damned silly thing to say, but in the heat of the moment, it had felt right. Watching Sherlock list off those deductions like it was nothing, the intensity had been electric, and John had never felt anything like it. It had left its mark, and John was going insane trying to get it out of his head

James leaned back in his chair, adjusting the lapels of his suit jacket. He watched John speculatively. "I think he might be just what you need. "

"I already had him. So"-- John flicked a hand through the air --"that was it." 

"Right. Your rule. Was it a one-night thing for him too?"

"Yep." John stated it certainly, popping the 'p' as it came out."

James studied John for another moment before his gaze traveled over the crowd of men. He wasn't about to pick any of them up. His scan held more amusement than intention.

The silence disturbed John. And that was odd. Sholto and he didn't need to talk every moment they were together. In fact, most of the time they didn't talk much at all - it wasn't necessary. That was another reason John enjoyed his company so much. But this silence pressed on him, so finally he sighed. "Right then, what is it you think I need?"

James didn't respond. John followed his stare to a couple near the far end of the bar. They danced-- or a better description might be embraced, or made love with their clothes on. Their lips didn't touch, but every other part of their bodies did. John's eyes narrowed. Not many men at the club came together with such heat and familiarity. It seemed futile. Why would two men ever think they could succeed at a long term relationship? The passion they exuded would never last. Not if they continued to patronize the Haven with its continual stream of available men.

James surprised him by suddenly answering his question. "You need to trust yourself enough to put yourself at risk."

John surrendered his judgmental stare to look back at his friend. "I take risks all the time." He laughed at his own words.

"I meant for you to risk more than your body." James leant forward and whispered. "Your parents aren't the only people in the world who can love you."

"Yeah. And they aren't the only ones who can fuck you over." James might have been the one person John could let go in front of and still be able to look at himself in the mirror the next morning, but he wasn't about to test that theory. It was stupid to expose yourself unnecessarily. 

James continued to probe John with his stare. John found himself wondering what the other man must have been thinking. _Probably something like "Why do I let my parents have control over my life? Why do I let what they think about me garner such import when it comes to how I live? And why the hell does spending more than one night with a guy scare the shit out of me?_ Or were those just the questions John asked himself?

"All right, enough." He snapped. "Quit looking at me like that. I've got of things I'm fucked up about. I know that. I don't need you to remind me. But this is who I am James. I'm enjoying my life."

"You could have more you know. More than fucking at the club."

John scanned the slew of men surrounding their table. "I happen to like fucking at the club."

"I know you do, " James said, "But trust me, one day you'll be old like me and you won't be able to sit alone in the silence for more than five minutes at a time. Your life will suffocate you."

Concern for his friend welled in John's chest. He had no idea what to do about it. James' shoulders slumped as he sank into the chair. "Don't mistake me John. I wouldn't have traded my time with Gary for anything in the world. I have a past to look back on, it's what I hold on to when I'm lonely. But _You_ have no past and no future. Your misery will encompass you until not even your random sexual encounters will be able to make it all go away. 

John was shaken by Sholto's speech. He kept his face straight, but he was shocked at James candid opinions, and, yes, a little frightened by the picture he painted. He looked away from his serious face, and spotted Sherlock as he stepped coolly down the stairs. He stopped and scanned the bar, and his gaze stilled once it landed on John. John expected him to walk past and leave the club.

He didn't. Sherlock strode towards him.

Sholto stood. "I'd better be going."

John shot him a panicked look "Don't run off."

James waved a casual hand in the air. "Call me when you get a chance." And he was gone.

"I didn't mean to chase your friend away..." The voice spoke beside John, as low and strong as it'd been when it had first spoken to John. John's head whipped around to look up at Sherlock. _Bugger, he's tall._ He stood quickly. "It's fine." 

Sherlock stepped closer, his intense gaze once again fixated on John. The look in his eyes was odd, as though he thought he'd imagined the entire escapade upstairs until he saw John in the bar. "I wanted you to know I had a lovely evening."

"Yeah, it was the best I've had in quite a while." John could have kicked himself. What was it about Sherlock that made John say things he'd never admit to anyone, not even himself?!

Sherlock raised a hand and stroked the side of John's neck, grazing his chin with his thumb. The touch was more intimate than anything he'd done to John upstairs. John's eyelids fluttered, then a swell of nerves gathered in his gut. _Am I enjoying his touch that much?_

I'm glad." Sherlock almost breathed the words. "I must admit I haven't been in the club in a while. It far exceeded my expectations."

John smiled at him before he dropped his hand and walked away.

_I've completely lost my mind._

*********

John awoke the next morning hard as hell and pissed off.

He couldn't get Sherlock out of his head! The man had invaded his dreams. He heard the grunts and moans, Sherlock's and his own. Felt a hot tongue in his mouth, heard Sherlock hiss _"christ..."_ as he came, tasted his lips, felt his cock slide in and out of him. It was odd and disconcerting and hot as hell.

He pushed Sherlock out of his mind, threw back the sheet, and planted his feet on the dingy bed. He grasped his dick in his hand and gave a few good strokes. It never took much to find his release. 

Until then.

He bolted out of the bed and headed for the tiny bathroom. The shower caddy had lube, and the heat of the water relaxed him in a way little else did. But the water turned tepid, and still he ran his hand over himself desperately. The hot water in his apartment was for shit. There was never time for fancy jerk-off sessions, and normally that didn't bother John. But he never had so much damn trouble getting off.

He concentrated on the slide of his hand and quickened the pace. He squeezed harder, ran his thumb over the tip. He pressed his forehead to the shower wall, the tip of his cock brushing the fiberglass with every stroke. 

Suddenly, he found himself imagining that his hand was Sherlock's mouth, and the wall was the back of his throat as he took John deep. His low growling moan filled John's ears, vibrated around his cock.

"God, Sherlock."

It might have been the first time he'd ever talked out loud to an imaginary partner while he was wanking off alone, but he didn't care. His hand suddenly felt amazing. And it wasn't just John's talent in pleasuring himself - though he'd had plenty of experience over the years. It had more to do with the vividness of his pretend partner. Sherlock's fictional mouth and tongue slid over John's shaft, licked the slit, and sucked him long and hard. 

"That's it Sherlock. Swallow me, _Swallow me._ "

He came with a loud groan, slapping the wall with his free hand. He stood there for a minute with his forehead pressed against the wall, breathing heavily. Finally he washed, and got out before the water could go from cold to frigid.

Dressed, and ready to focus on anything else, John headed to the kitchen to make some tea. He'd returned to his habit of moving often when he'd come back to England. Once he'd gotten the job at the clinic, he'd been able to leave the dismal bed-sits he'd been trapped in, but the new apartment was only slightly larger, and infinitely more decrepit. It was small, with one six by fourteen bedroom, and a bathroom the size of a closet. The largest room was a kitchen that accommodated a three-legged folding table leaning against the wall, three wobbly folding chairs, and a small living area he'd set up as an office, complete with a battered particle board desk that smelled like petrified glue. It was a miserable place.

John brewed a cup of tea and took a seat at the desk. The folding chair creaked under his weight. The thing was bound to break, but it was the best of the set. It should last until John moved again. The only other furniture in the room was a tattered, stained orange couch that smelled of sweat and dope and had too many springs that jabbed into John's ass. He hadn't bothered to replace it. He'd do as someone else had when he'd acquired it -- leave it, and the table and chairs for whoever rented the shithole apartment after him. He moved too much to care about the furniture he kept. He still had boxes of clothes and medical books and his military kit that had never been unpacked from his last move.

John didn't really care about his surroundings, he spent his money carefully. On the club- which he deemed a necessity- and what he had sitting on top of the desk. The computer and digital video surveillance equipment.

John wasn't afraid of his father, but he didn't like giving him the satisfaction of knowing where John lived. It had become a game- he'd spend resources and time tracking John; John would spend his money and wits knowing when his father was getting close, and getting the hell out before his men could figure out how John had made them.

John swallowed a mouthful of hot tea and hissed with the burn. _It's gonna be a long day..._

He reached for the keyboard and entered the password. Two monitors flashed on. John checked the video feeds from last night and knocked back the rest of the tea. Several interior and exterior views of John's apartment showed in the screens. The previous eight hours replayed in fast forward.

Nothing. No movement. No unexpected guests. The extra precautions on the way home had paid off. Guess he got another day of peace. John stared at the current video feeds, but he no longer saw the screens before him, or the apartment around him. He thought of Sherlock. A dark angel, James had called him. He certainly was - and perhaps an avenging one, he was after all, a detective. John was fascinated, thrilled by the idea of a detective, solving crimes. He saw himself, hunting down a criminal with Sherlock, watching the dark angel making his mad deductions, then shagging him senseless when they were done. The dimly lit room from the night before reappeared in his view. He felt Sherlock's hands on his hips, Sherlock's cock deep inside of him. He felt Sherlock's lips on his cock, his sucking and swirling that had brought John his first of two orgasms. "Bloody _hell._ " 

John was getting hard. Again.

Determined not to take the matter in hand after the morning spent fighting for orgasm, he reset the hidden cameras and the computer password and logged off. He grabbed his jacket and bag and stepped out into the hall to complete his usual routine: Triple-check the lock and add the translucent tape to the bottom of the door. Not a sophisticated system, but it allowed John to know before entering if there was a chance he wouldn't be alone.

The challenging part of his day would getting to and from work without being followed. He always backtracked more than once and never took the same route twice in one week. The same procedure he followed to get to the Haven.

John ran a hand through his hair, frustrated and grateful that he'd agreed to work on a Saturday. Frustrated because he was aching for another wank; and grateful because nothing killed a hard-on quicker than snotty noses and STD's. He desperately needed to get his mind off Sherlock. He made his way down the stairwell, the swell in his pants rubbing against the tight fabric with each step. 

It was going to be one , _hell_ of a long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, clearly John has issues, but not without reason. As you shall soon see ;)  
> I threw in Sholto because I needed a character like that, one who knew John and would have his back, and I thought he was the best fit. Yes he's OOC, but not too much I hope - 'cept for the gay part, that's all me ;)  
> I hope people like where this is going, thank you so much for the encouragement I've already received <3  
> Please review, pointing out mistakes, and I am always open to ideas. Ciao for now!


	4. Pitcher to the Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The pitcher goes to the well again and 'gain, but in the end it breaks."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyoooo!!! So here's more John being John, more plot, and a wee little bit o' porn, because I simply cannot control myself Dahling!  
> Thank you so much for all your wonderful comments they make smile and giggle like a crazy person.  
> I hope you like this chap, there's a hint as to why John's so paranoid, but there's more to come!

John stormed into his apartment six hours later. He slammed the door shut and hurled his key onto the desk. By the time he was half way across the room, he had his jacket off and every button on his shirt undone. He yanked the shirt off and threw it on the floor. By now he was in the bathroom, and attacking his pants. John undid the zipper and shoved his hand inside. His ass hit the sink. "Fuck." He snarled. He hadn't been this dead desperate while alone in a long time. He wrangled his pants off, turned on the shower and stepped the spray. A quick grope in the shower caddy produced the lube. He clicked the lid open one-handed and squeezed the contents over his dick, working it with the other hand. The cool lubricant ran down to his balls.

He squeezed his hand tightly, pulling roughly, not caring for the pinch of pain. He ran his thumb over the tip of his cock and jerked his hips. His body tightened up, but though he felt his climax simmering on the edge, it would not come. He leant against the wall, letting out a frustrated growl. He needed more. He cranked the water off and moved his private party to the bedroom. Before getting on the bed, he rummaged through the closet and seized the bag of toys tucked in the bottom of a lone cardboard box. John dug inside the bag and sighed when his hand found the large dildo. He hadn't wanted to use it -- needed to use it -- since before he'd joined the club. 

He set the dildo next to the lube on the bed and splayed out desperately on the sheets. John stroked himself, pinched his nipples, rolled his balls until he was panting and wanting more. He slicked his fingers and rode them aggressively. But it still wasn't enough. Rather unwillingly, John shut his eyes, and imagined it was Sherlock inside of him. Suddenly it _was_ Sherlock filling him. First with his elegant fingers, and then - when John slammed the dildo in - It was Sherlock's cock pounding into him. Those beautiful, full lips whispered over John's skin, the silken white hands caressed his flesh - John's hips rocketed off the bed. A fierce gasp exploded out of him.

John lay with his chest heaving for several minutes, long after he'd removed the dildo and wiped away the evidence of his pleasure. He hadn't come that hard by himself since university, since John had last thought about any man in particular when he jerked off. He wanted to sleep, and put distance between himself and the sexual fantasies. They worried him, and he did not want to consider the implications of them. Sleep wouldn't come though, and John's thoughts wandered to those long-ago university days.

John had spent the last two years of school with one man after another. It was then he'd first experienced bondage, some nameless man torturing him with pleasure.

That was after his father had taken everything from him. After the last time he'd slept with the same man more than once. After John had lost the only person he' ever let himself fall for.

John rolled over, buried his face in the pillow, and gave himself permission to remember the last time they'd made love.

_"John, love you. God, love this."_

_"Tom..."_

_He pushed in. His cock drove past the tight ring of muscle in a slow move that always left John writhing and begging for more. He lifted his hips off the bed, arched to meet Tom, tugged at him with his legs, clutched at him with his hands. John couldn't get close enough. He wanted to feel Tom everywhere. He wanted to breathe in his scent. Memorize every muscle, every hair on his body, show him who he was to John. Tom's eyes met John's, and he realised he didn't have to show him anything. Tom already knew how important he was to John._

_And John meant the same to him._

_Tom pulled back and thrust again. His hips collided with John's ass. The force wasn't meant to hurt him, but to get Tom as close to John as he could. John squeezed his eyes shut. "Tom! Don't stop."_

_"This will go on, John. I won't let it stop." John opened his eyes at Tom's words. Did he mean them the way they sounded? John didn't get a chance to ask._

_The strong scent of a familiar cologne washed over John. At first, John's brain couldn't reconcile the vision - it was in such contrast to what his body felt. But there he was. John's father stood next to the nightstand. John retreated up the bed, and dragged Tom with him. Tom stared down at him, his face contorted in a mix of passion and confusion until he caught sight of John's father. His dick slipped out of John, and he scrambled to his side._

_John's father whirled his arm upward. He jammed a cool, metal object against John's face. A handgun. The barrel dug into the flesh of John's cheek. "Don't move, Son."_

John awoke an hour later, his father's words still ringing in his ears. _"You start living a decent life, or I swear to God, I will track you down and take away every lover you ever have. I'll make them see who you are, and I'll make them hate you. I will make your life a living hell."_

Goose bumps formed at the base of John's neck as his eyes shot open. He launched off the bed and didn't bother with clothes. He charged out into the main room and lunged for the computer. He entered the password three times before he hit the correct keys. His fingers tapped a wild tattoo on the edge of the desk as the surveillance program opened. The playback started, and he clicked roughly several times to advance the screens faster, scanning for any sign of his stalkers. The video playback caught up to the current time. 

Nothing.

His breaths slowed. It was the first time he'd forgotten to check the tape on the door or the cameras. He'd been so distracted by thoughts of Sherlock and his glorious night of passion, so caught up in thinking with his cock.

John jumped as the phone on the desk rang. He stared at it for four rings before he answered. No one had the number to John's land line, both the club and the clinic had his mobile number. The apartment wasn't even in John's name.

"John Watson?"

John straightened and pressed the phone closer to his ear. "Yes?"

"My name's Kitty Riley. I'm a reporter with _The Sun_. I'm doing a story on your father and wondered if you'd be able to answer some questions." The woman spoke with an irritating nasal tone that set John's teeth on edge. 

"How'd you get this number?"

"I'm looking to do a human interest piece-- about the man, his family, that sort of thing. I'm not out for dirt or anything, just need an angle."

John banged his fist on the desk and hit the edge of the keyboard so hard three keys popped off. They scattered and bounced on the floor. John watched as the letters _M_ and _N_ and _B_ randomly surfaced over and over like the balls spinning in a bingo cage. The tiny pieces of plastic clicked as they collided. It sounded like they were snickering at him.

John took a deep breath, forcing his voice to be calm and neutral. "I asked you a question."

" How I got your number isn't important John." John recoiled at the stranger's nasal tone saying his name."You'd do well to talk to me, John. I'm not going to be the last call you get. At some point, you'll have to answer questions. No one knows about your father's family, and the people _want_ to know."

"Why now?" John growled.

"Seriously? He's a big man these days! His energy bill saved a lot of jobs in this country. People want to know the man behind the name."

"Trust me; you don't want to know him." John slammed the phone down as he stood and kicked the flimsy chair backward, scraping a bare heel. "Goddammit!" John cradled the injured foot in his hands and hopped around naked. He tripped over the busted chair and plunged onto the couch. The springs jammed into his hip. Pain exploded down his leg and mixed with the throb in his foot. He slumped, groaning.

The twisted, fractured chair lay sprawled on the floor, mocking John. It was a clear reminder that the time to move again was close. He stood and hobbled to the bedroom.

One place would make him feel better.

*********

John arrived at the Haven a few hours later, dressed in an ash suit and a burgundy dress shirt, with a cocky smirk on his face. He was determined to put all thoughts of his father, his past, and any other emotional bullocks behind him. The Haven was John's place to play. His place to feel better about his life and how he lived it.

He wanted to fuck the shit out of someone.

John wanted to dominate, to take charge and posses someone, deny them an orgasm until he wanted them to come. His expectations of what the night would entail affected his demeanor, and he stood taller. He eyed the room for a candidate before taking a seat at the bar. The hurried manner in which he went about the task would have bothered John on any other night. Not now. He had something to prove-- to himself _and_ to his father.

Yet, as John surveyed the room and sat on a bar stool, the image of one man assailed his thoughts-- a grinning, licking, groaning Sherlock.

_Shit._ John slammed a clenched fist onto the bar. "Something wrong John?" The bartender asked, looking at him with concerned eyes.

"Uh, no. Nothing, thanks. Glass of water please, Carl." John raised the water to his lips and kept swallowing until he sucked in air instead of the cool liquid. He shoved the glass aside with the back of his hand. The odd scratching in his throat continued with each gulp of air. John closed his eyes, and a daydream of him and Sherlock soon arrived. He saw a vivid vision of Sherlock wailing with abandon, pleading and begging while John continued to fuck him mercilessly.

He rubbed the back of his neck with an open hand, but the gesture only created more tension instead of easing it. Sex with the same man wasn't the experience John wanted. Not that night.

Not any night,

he reminded himself, listing all the reasons there were no repeats. It was too expected, redundant, reliable, and complicated. _Right. I want none of it._

Except he did want Sherlock. John couldn't deny how much he wanted to feel him in his arms, to touch him, to kiss him again. He forced a glance around the room, and took note of several potential men in the thick crowd. He gestured for another glass of water and forced a languid drink. Then John spotted him, seated at a table in the middle of the dining room. John set the glass on the bar and whirled around.

His face was hidden, but those dark curls were unmistakable. Sherlock lifted his head, but didn't look at John. His clear gaze was focused on the two tall, bulky, leather-clad men strolling toward his table. His head tilted, and his eyebrow arched interestedly as they came closer to him. The men sat without a word.

John watched the group with narrowed eyes. He'd been with the big blokes before. They were a longtime couple and were heavy into using bondage and toys as there only means of sexual contact--but not to do to each other. They wanted to play with someone else. John watched what he could see of Sherlock's face as the men propositioned him. John couldn't imagine Sherlock would like to be bound. He seemed to be an entirely sensual man who wouldn't want to be with someone he couldn't touch. Someone whom he couldn't explore with his hands, his lips, his tongue.

But John didn't know him. Or did he? He envisioned Sherlock tied to a bed, with the large men using all manner of objects to touch him, arouse him. Initially, John found the image erotic, but then it turned into a scene he didn't care for. He saw Sherlock's frustration grow as he tried to move his hands and body, straining for a single touch from his lovers, desperate for a kiss, for contact.

"Hello."

John lowered his foot and used it to swivel the stool until he faced the voice's owner. The young man had been in the club a month before, but John hadn't been with him yet. John smiled, but the expression required effort - _Damn it Sherlock, get out of my head!_. 

The stranger spoke again, eyeing John up and down . "My friend and I are looking for someone tonight. Someone who might want to... take control. You interested?"

"Could be," John answered coolly. "Where is he?"

"Restroom. He saw you before he left. He's quite taken with the idea of the three of us."

John was too, until he caught sight of Sherlock again. He was still at the table, but the men from before had disappeared. _Did he turned them down?_ John wasn't aware he was staring until brilliant green-blue eyes connected with his. John clutched at the bar. Sherlock continued to stare until yet another man approached his table. The man had dark hair like Sherlock's but was more John's height and build. He was younger than John though, and better looking, more sleek and sexy. Why the hell did all the new guys at the club look like extras just off the set of Queer as Folk?! The two talked, and Sherlock gestured to an empty chair. The younger man dropped into the seat straight away. _Of course,_ John snorted, _who wouldn't be anxious for a chance at Sherlock?_

John forced his attention back to the man next to him. his prospect's tall friend joined them. He wrapped his arms around the seated man's shoulders "Is this fine man interested?" He purred into his friends ear.

"I think he is." The seated man closed his eyes and leaned into his friend. They entwined their hands over his chest.

A relationship.

John felt something flare and smirk inside of him. He'd separate them. Tie one up, and make him watch from across the room while John claimed and inspired the other lover's body. "Should we head up?" The tall man asked.

Unable to stop himself, John glanced in Sherlock's direction. He was startled to see his eyes were on John's partners. The frown and furrowed brow illustrated his opinion of John's partners for the night. Without looking away from John and his new friends stood, Sherlock spoke to the man at his table. The man gave a curt nod, stood, and returned to the lounge, already on the prowl for someone else.

Sherlock didn't falter. He stood and, ignoring every other man in the place, proceeded to the bar, to John. 

The tall man stiffened as Sherlock Joined them. "Oi, we're talking here."

Sherlock ignored him and leaned an elbow on the bar. "Have you already found what you want tonight, John?"

John shook his head, but the tall man spoke again, looking insulted. "Yeah, he's got us."

Sherlock turned his suddenly cold gaze on the man and his partner. "Oh no, I don't think so..." Sherlock almost purred. "You have a rather foolhardy penchant for barebacking without your partners' permission. And seeing as John has something of a horror for unprotected sex, I'd say you're chances for an encounter with him are precisely _nil._ "

Sherlock ignored the other mans spluttering, and his partners attempts at placation, instead turning to burn John with his gaze. "Is there any way I can entice you again?"

"I think you already have." The words flew out of John's mouth without any regret. He wanted to feel Sherlock all over him, inside him. He wanted to feel Sherlock's thighs wrapped around his hips. John was glad of his choice when Sherlock gave him a dazzling smile and tugged his arm. "Come."

John stepped off the stool willingly, but asked "You sure you want me again?" Sherlock turned and gave John a disbelieving look. "Were we in the same room last night?."

John flushed. "Right."

Sherlock's grip on John's arm loosened as they made their way through the crowd, but he was constantly glancing at John, as though to make sure he was still there. John wasn't leaving, the decision to be with Sherlock was under John's own control-- or lack of control, as the case may be. But more and more air left his body with each step. Breathing would be almost impossible by the time they reached a room. He stopped at the base of the stairs. "Wait." This couldn't be what he wanted. He couldn't allow himself to break his rule.

Sherlock halted and looked back at John. He stepped back down so that he and John were almost nose to nose. His piercing eyes searched John's for a moment. "I think you need a minute to adjust your game plan." He smiled softly. "Why don't we have a seat?"

John sat at the table Sherlock indicated, lungs filling with air. Sherlock sat opposite, eyes still considering John. "What do you want tonight John?"

John didn't answer right away, still debating internally. Sherlock ran a white fingertip over his plush lower lip. He spoke slowly, smiling a little. "I think I'm already getting what I want. I'm not one for seconds either John, but I would quite like another chance with you. I'm open to anything you suggest." He took John off guard, stroking his cheek with the back of a long hand.

Trying not to lean into Sherlock's touch, John nodded, taking a deep breath. "No bondage." He glanced up from his hands to see a grin twisting the corners of the tempting lips. He gave a small grin in return, taking another deep breath. "I need to bury myself in someone, but..." He suddenly remembered the feeling of Sherlock utterly consuming him, in him and around him. His eyes met Sherlock's and he saw the spark flare there as he continued. "But I want that someone to finish in me."

John no longer needed control over another. He wanted the same thing Sherlock had given him the night before- he wanted to feel alive, he wanted to be overwhelmed by Sherlock.

"I like your frankness." Sherlock smirked.

"There's no point in keeping what you want a secret, not here."

"No, there isn't." They sat staring at one another for a moment.

"So," John finally murmured, "does that work for you?"

Sherlock's nod said it all. The man vibrated. His fingers tapped at the table in rapid succession, and his gaze shot to the stairs and back - he was as desperate as John. a lump formed in John's throat. He _Should_ have been standing, walking away. "I thought you weren't looking for this."

Sherlock stilled and tilted his head in an endearingly birdlike motion. "Looking for what?"

"Repeats."

"I wasn't, but--" He leant forward, rumbling lowly in John's ear. "Do you know how hard I came wanking this morning? Thinking about how we were last night? I'd like to think we'll be as good, as fantastic, tonight."

"I don't do this more than once... with anyone."

Sherlock scrutinized John for another moment and gave a quick nod. "Fair enough." He stood and looked around the table, searching for someone else, but he didn't move from the table. _A bluff._ John thought. _It has to be._

A young man not much older than twenty, with black eyeliner framing his eyes and purple tips at the ends of his light spiky hair, stalked towards the table, Sherlock in his sights. It didn't take long for men at the Haven to read someone's availability. Sherlock gave his answer with a sweep of his head from side to side. The young man ran his index finger down Sherlock's arm in a last appeal as he passed by the table. Sherlock shook his head one last time, his eyes on John.

"If you change your mind..." The blonde licked his lips and strutted away, flaunting his pert rear end. Sherlock whipped his head around to follow the blonde's retreat. He looked back at John then smacked a palm on his thigh. "Damn." He gave John a last longing look, then turned away. John couldn't hear the grin in his voice as he said . "Since you won't have me John, I suppose I'll have to play with that bit of goods, tacky as he is."

John pictured them fucking each other. He felt ill. "Wait." He glanced around the packed dinging room but saw nothing-- no one else he could imagine having. Sherlock inhaled an uneven breath. His cologne wafted across the table. "Once more."

Turning back, the smile on Sherlock's face took John's breath away. " I think we can manage more than once for you tonight." Sherlock rumbled.

"Yeah, I think so too." John grinned and stood, bouncing on the balls of his feet. A laugh flew out of Sherlock as he slipped his hand in John's. "I'm glad you changed your mind." He didn't let go of John.

John had never held hands with another man. His entire body tensed. Then Sherlock's thumb caressed the back of his hand, and John never wanted him to stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huehuehuehuehuehuehuheuhheuhuehuehuehuehuehueehu *Sexy tiiimes are coooomiiiing!!!* So sorry to leave you hanging, but good porn takes time to write, and I wanted to give you this ASAP. But lovely, sweaty sexy times ARE coming.   
> huehuehuehueheuehueuehuehuehueuheuue ^_~


	5. A Second Seduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, hi. Sorry I haven't updated in an eternity, life showed up and was being a needy bitch, so I had to pay attention to her for a while. As an apology, have some sex! I'm not entirely pleased with this, but I figured I needed to stop revising and revising and revising and revising and just POST the bloody thing. So here you go, I hope you like it. Thanks for all the love darlings ;)

The door closed roughly behind John. The room was silent apart from small gasps and the rustle of fine suits. Sherlock mashed his groin against John's ass and wrapped his strong arms around him. Even through his trousers, there was no denying his cock was on fire. John let his head roll back on the taller man's shoulder, and slowly rolled his hips, grinding his ass over Sherlock's hot erection. Sherlock moaned and ran one hand over John's chest, fingers fumbling blindly at the buttons of his shirt. "Wait." John panted out. 

Sherlock's hand stilled, but he nipped hard at the side of John's neck, and thrust his erection against his ass once more. "You are _not_ backing out of this now John." Sherlock growled against his neck, nipping at it then running his tongue over the reddened flesh. 

John chuckled lowly, tilting his head to give Sherlock better access. "Feeling desperate are we?" Sherlock only growled in response, continuing his ministrations, and grinding against John in a steady rhythm. John smiled. "Don't you worry, I'm gonna take care of that... but, _ah!_ " He gasped as Sherlock bit down particularly hard, then sucked on the mark he left. Clearly he didn't like the implications of "but". John also had a lurking suspicion Sherlock was intentionally marking him, putting some kind of claim on John's flesh. It was hot as hell. He gasped again, and fought to get the words out. "I needed to warn you, I wanna top-"

"I know John," Sherlock murmured against his ear, sucking the lobe into his mouth. "I already said I find that more than acceptable."

"Yeah," John gasped, "But you should kn-know, I g-get rough." John didn't know why he felt the need to warn Sherlock, he wasn't a delicate thing despite his thinness. He just didn't like the idea of hurting Sherlock - well, hurting Sherlock without him enjoying it. 

Sherlock grabbed John's shoulders, swung him around, and kissed him. The kiss was harsh and messy, with lots of teeth and tongue. Whether or not he should have been in the room with Sherlock no longer mattered to John. He clutched at the tall man's biceps and pressed against his lithe frame, crushing him against the door. Finally, Sherlock broke the kiss. He looked wild as he stared down at John. His eyes glowed, and two hectic spots of pink appeared in his cheeks. He bent forward and licked a stripe from John's collar to his ear where he spoke, the dark rumbling tone making John shiver. "Would it be too cliché to say that I like it rough?"

John almost whimpered at the statement, and grabbed Sherlock's head in his hands, twisting his fingers into the thick curls. He did not kiss him roughly though. Instead, he began a slow, sensual exploration of the other man's mouth. He sucked on the glorious lips, traced the outline with his tongue, then plunged deeper, savoring the taste and wet heat of Sherlock. He broke away, and planted a light, close-lipped kiss on the cupid's bow mouth. Sherlock smiled sweetly, and returned the favor, starting his own exploration of John's mouth. 

The kissing continued, one man exploring the other's mouth, back and forth. John's trousers were unbuttoned, and Sherlock's long hand freed his cock. He teased the head, then gripped the base. He stroked John, touching every inch of his cock. The slow slide of his hand, the warmth of Sherlock's flesh on his, the lingering stares that unraveled something deep inside him: it was exactly how John remembered and wished it to be.

Sherlock's blue-green eyes examined him, watching John's every reaction as if he were a puzzle he had to solve, only he wasn't sure he'd find the answer he wanted. _What is he looking for?_

Sherlock finally stopped fondling John and started undressing him. John fumbled with Sherlock's clothes, needing to touch more of the creamy flesh. Their frantic hands worked on buttons and zippers, and tugged out limbs until flesh touched flesh. They kissed again. Again, John marveled at how much he kissed Sherlock, how much he liked it. It seemed almost excessive, and yet he couldn't stop himself. He licked down Sherlock's chest and headed for a rosy nipple. He paused before it, for a moment unsure of himself, not sure what Sherlock would want. He went ahead tentatively, licking the bud then drawing it into his mouth, swirling his tongue. He sucked lightly.

Sherlock seized the back of John's head with his hand. John stilled and waited for Sherlock to take control or force him away. Sherlock merely held his head in place, encouraging him to continue. Happily, John sucked and lapped at the bud. Sherlock tasted salty and a bit sweet, and the flavor lingered on John's tongue. He drew the other nipple into his mouth and slowly worked the sensitive nub. He tugged at it with his teeth, and Sherlock's hips bucked. His thick cock slapped against John. John wanted nothing more than to grab that cock and shove it in his mouth.

That's how it always was with John. One look at a hard cock and his reaction was oral. It's how he'd finally accepted he was bi. Women were nice, but there was nothing about a woman that garnered the same effect. But it had been a long time since he'd done it without a rubber in the way. Before he had time to talk himself out of it, Sherlock's fingers dug into his hair and hauled him up for another searing kiss. "You going to fuck me or not, John?"

Hearing the way Sherlock's tongue caressed the profanity made John clench with need. He grabbed Sherlock around the waist and pulled him to the bed. He stopped, spun Sherlock to face the bed and nearly threw him onto it. The brunet stumbled, fell on the bed, and - in a gesture that turned John into shaking pool of need - clutched the sheets in his hands, raising his ass as he pushed up onto his knees. John stood wordlessly, with his erection throbbing as Sherlock fucking _presented_ himself. Sherlock groaned and spoke, shaking John out of his trance. "God John, _please_. I cannot remember ever wanting anyone as much as I want you. Can't get enough of you, _please!_ "

John groaned in response, unable to stop himself. Sherlock was truly beautiful. John's eyes traced the line of his spine, savoring the milky smoothness, the perfect dimples above his ass. He felt a sudden need to sink his teeth into the flesh, to mark Sherlock, just as Sherlock had marked him; to leave evidence of their lust all over his body. He crawled up onto the bed, stopping and kneeling behind Sherlock's glorious ass. Despite how thin the pale man was, he had a firm, well shaped ass that just begged for John's attention. Sherlock twitched when John ran his hands along his back; starting at his shoulder blades and gliding his palms downwards, until they came to rest over the dimples John found so adorably sexy. _Well, here's as good a place to start as any._ He leant down, and traced the left dimple with his tongue. 

Sherlock whined, then quickly slapped a hand over his mouth - it was a high, pleading sound John could not have imagined coming from the man with a voice like purring thunder. But dear _gods_ did he like it. And he wanted to hear it again. He swiped his tongue over the dimple again, then dug his tongue in, planting his lips and sucking. Sherlock trembled, and John sucked harder, then finally gave into his urge and bit down. Sherlock keened, squirming against Johns' teeth. John was careful not to break skin, but he was sure there would be a definite bruise. He let go, pulling back to admire the circle of teeth marks that ringed Sherlock's dimple. He felt a glow of contentment... then suddenly realized what he'd done. He'd _marked_ Sherlock. He'd made a text book sign of attachment. Leaving love bites and hickeys was a sign of possession, of something that had way more meaning than a one - _two_ he corrected himself - night stand. He was in deep shit.

He was suddenly pulled from his panicked thoughts by Sherlock turning around and kissing him dizzy. He was gasping when Sherlock pulled away, only to lean his forehead against John's and murmur "You are thinking far too loudly John, and you're supposed to be doing something far more interesting." He quirked a fine black eyebrow at John, making him smile. "You're right."John cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. Now-" He placed a palm in the center of Sherlock's firm chest and pushed him back until he was sprawled out with John hovering over him. "Where were we?" Sherlock smiled and gave him a soft kiss on the lips. "Wherever you want."

John slid down his length, skin tingling where it brushed Sherlock's hard nipples. Sherlock's eyes held his as John hovered with his head over Sherlock's groin. He wrapped his hands around Sherlock's legs and lifted his knees to his chest, exposing him and spreading him wide. He still felt an insatiable need to taste Sherlock, so he slid his tongue over the back of his white thighs, his ass. John licked at Sherlock's opening and the flesh surrounding it. Swirling, nipping, plunging his tongue into the tight knot of muscle. His cock throbbed as he listened to Sherlock moan and beg, gripping his own legs as John worked him over. More whimpering groans came from Sherlock's mouth, only to be muffled by the hand he held firmly in place over it. John pulled away and leant over him, gripping the delicate wrist and pulling Sherlock's hand away, replacing it with his own tongue. He plundered Sherlock's mouth, feeling lost in his need to possess, to pull this pale man apart piece by piece.

He broke away from the kiss, a line of saliva stretching and breaking between them as he glared down at Sherlock. "Don't you dare keep quiet. I want to hear every -" He nipped at Sherlock's jaw - "Single- " He sucked hard at the spot, making Sherlock squirm and tug at his hair - "Sound." He pulled back once more, and waited until Sherlock nodded frantically, panting and running his hands through his own hair. John smiled, a predatory, snarling thing that made Sherlock flush and groan, pawing at John's chest desperately. "Please _please_ John. Do it now, _Now_! Don't need prep, just you, in me, now!" John lowered down again, returning his tongue to Sherlock's entrance. At the same time he coated his hand with lube. Sherlock might say he didn't want prep, but John wasn’t taking chances, and he enjoyed the way Sherlock begged. He pushed two slick fingers into Sherlock, licking around them to ease the burn slightly. Sherlock's eyes rolled back and he groaned loudly. " _Fucking hell_." John groaned at the curse, making Sherlock squirm beneath him at the vibrations. He added another finger, perhaps a little sooner than he ought, but he was impatient, and Sherlock wasn't complaining. In fact his only response was to roll his hips, releasing a sound that was part moan, part whimper as he thrust against John's slick fingers.

Before Sherlock, touch had never been such a big part of John's sexual encounters. Prep was not drawn out like this, it was done quickly, as a means to an end. But now, hearing the loud, gasping sounds he drew from Sherlock, he couldn't imagine it any other way. He added another finger and leant over Sherlock, biting at the succulent lips and swallowing the delicious moans. finally he pulled back gasping "Ready, Sherlock?"

"Yesss..." Sherlock hissed through clenched teeth.

"Turn over." John growled, pulling his fingers out and smacking Sherlock rump, lightly, but enough to get him moving quickly. Sherlock scrambled up the bed and landed on his knees. He displayed his ass in the air before John had even moved. He groaned. "Been thinking about this all day..."

John got on his knees behind him and stroked the taut curve of his ass. He liked the look of Sherlock's pale skin under his hands, the feel of the heated pink flesh where he'd slapped him. The sight of Sherlock bent over in front of John had him ready to go off. The skin of his dick stretched tight.

He clawed blindly at the bedspread until he found a foil packet, and his hands trembled as he opened the rubber. He rolled it on, and added lube, his balls drew up from his own touch. John wasn't supposed to need someone that much. He wasn't supposed to be out of control.

John leant over Sherlock and licked and nipped the back of his neck, savoring his taste, his scent-- John's brain already equating that smell with physical pleasure and sated bliss. The responding moans and sways of Sherlock's body would have made anyone think John had already entered him.

He needed John as much as John needed him. That thought was enough to make him shove aside his doubts and focus on the dark angel falling apart beneath his touch. John lined up, the head of his cock at Sherlock's opening.

"Hold..." John's eyes' flicked to meet Sherlock's as the thin man spoke. His head was turned to stare at John, and he was silent a moment, simply staring at John, his fantastic eyes seeming to bore straight into John's soul. Slowly, he nodded.

John's cock slammed inside Sherlock with a fast thrust that drove his body forward, nearly forcing him into the headboard. A shout escaped Sherlock as he threw his hands up to catch himself on the board, hands splayed and knuckles white as he hung on for dear life. John gasped at the sensation of being totally enveloped in hot tightness, his mind whiting out until there was nothing but sensation and Sherlock.

And just like that, he was fucking the same man as he had the night before. Only, he wasn't freaking. All he felt was Sherlock."

Almost crying from the flood of sensations, he began to move with wild abandon. He poured all of his conflicting passion into Sherlock's body, determined to wreck the mysterious, intoxicating man. He slammed in again and again, each thrust rocking them wildly. Sherlock's grasp on the headboard was the only thing that kept them from moving forward as John threw everything he had into taking Sherlock apart. He leant forward, pressing his chest against the slim back beneath him. He kissed at the hairline at Sherlock's neck, licking at the sweat forming there before he pressed opened mouthed kisses at every bit of skin he could reach. "God- sherlock- _god_!" He babbled against creamy skin, snarling as Sherlock clenched around his cock. Sherlock curled his spine, taking John as deep as possible, moaning slurred words. "Yes- _yes_! Oh Christ!"

John mouthed at the junction of Sherlock's neck and shoulder, and bit down hard, making Sherlock wail and thrust back against John wildly. The intense pleasure made him lose concentration quickly. But it was okay, Sherlock had him, they had each other. Swaying together, need and hunger took over as they rocked and thrust. John bit again and again, not as hard as the first one, which had broken skin, but hard enough to make Sherlock whimper and wail, writhing against him like an animal in heat.

The room filled with their noises. The bed creaked under them. Skin slapped against skin. Two men groaned as they soared, high on one another.

One of Sherlock's hands was braced against the board, the other twisted in the sheets, gripping so tight he was about to rip the fabric. John reached around him and enjoyed the sleek, firm touch of Sherlock's cock as it slid in his hand with every mad thrust. Sherlock's body writhed and quivered. His mouth shouted delicious words and sounds that John was beginning to love.

Then he almost screamed out, saying John's name like a prayer as he came, and that did John in. He came while Sherlock clenched around him. Everything seemed to turn to lava in that instant as his soul shook loose from his bones in a moment of pure, blinding pleasure. 

Unable to stop his sated body, John settled on Sherlock's back. Sherlock let out a low, contented murmur as John's body melted over him. They collapsed on the bed in a tangle of sweaty limbs and bodies.

"Damn." The word escaped John's mouth with a rush of air. He waited a moment to catch his breath, then got rid of the rubber. "That's the third time I've gotten off today."

Sherlock lifted his head, quirking a brow. "You didn't spend the day at the club..." John didn’t ask Sherlock how he knew that, instead shaking his head in agreement. "No. I worked this morning and then went home. Alone." For some fucked up reason, he felt it important to clarify that last point.

Sherlock smirked. "I take it you were as distracted today as I was." He patted John's hip, then shifted so he was lying next to him on his back. "Did you have fun by yourself, John?"

John grinned at the rumbling voice, comparing it in his head with the high keening noises he had pulled out of Sherlock just moments ago. "Not as much as tonight. That's for damn sure."

"Me neither." Sherlock murmured. His hand cupped John's jaw, and pulled John's mouth to his, turning so he was on his side. He kissed John soft and slow, one hand skimming over John's ribcage, not demanding more, not pushing John towards anything but the simple touch. Sherlock moaned at the simple contact. _Damn, he has such great responses._ John wondered what it would be like to have Sherlock fuck him, sweet and slow. Did he do that kind of sex? - did John do that kind of sex? _No. Definitely **Not**._

But the image of Sherlock taking him, slowly and sweetly, murmuring praises in his ear and caressing John like he was some treasured thing wouldn't leave him. The scene played over and over in his head as Sherlock's tongue sought out his own. John pressed into the kiss, needing more all of a sudden, not sure if it was the sensation of the kiss or if it was that image of a lithe, groaning Sherlock taking him in hot, slow, sweaty sex that did him in.

When they parted, the words spilled out of John's mouth. "Sometime I'd like to hear what you sound like when your being gentle."

A smile of victory spread across Sherlocks face, as he rumbled approvingly. "That would be something..." He slid closer, running one thin finger across John's ribs, then skipping up to skate over his shoulder and tease at John's scar. "Would you like that John? Me taking you slowly, bringing you to the edge, then keeping you there, burning for _hours_ as I fucked you oh-so tenderly ..." He dug his own tongue into the scar tissue with a moan, keeping his eyes on John's face to make sure he was alright with it. 

John whimpered. With Sherlock so close he couldn't hope to hide the tremor that ran through his body at the idea. - out of trepidation or anticipation? Even he didn't know.

Sherlock distracted him by pulling away and purring "Though I must say, I quite like the results when you take control." John let a lazy grin spread across his face. "Most do." Sherlock chuckled at that, leaning down to nip at John's throat. "Cheeky."

John's mind was whirling as it slowly returned from its post coital fog. Why the hell was he still lying next to Sherlock, _talking_ to him? He should have been out the door five minutes ago - I should be leaving _now!_ he snapped in his head. But his eyes took in the dark angel that lay tousled beside him, the multitude of love bites scattered across creamy skin, and instead asked "So, how long have you been coming here?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmmmmm mansex. Yummy. Up next is conversation and hopefully more yummy mansex. I'm not pleased with how short this chapter is but, something is better than nothing right? Thank you for all the kudos and comments and I always love to hear feedback. Thoughts on top John? Suggestions? I'm always open. People I haven't responded to, I'm a little shit and I'm sorry. I gave you mansex??? Hope that makes us even . Lotsa loves children, hopefully the next update will be up very soon. Adios!^_~

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, hopefully, somebody likes this, please do drop a comment if you do! Also, if there is anything you would like to see happen I am always open to suggestions. Ciao for now!


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